Ask Not for a Lighter Burden, But for Broader Shoulders
by Hearken0070
Summary: Commander Riley Shepard: decorated Alliance officer, first human Spectre and the galaxy's last hope for freedom. It's a lot to rest on one woman's shoulders. But who is this woman really? And her squadmates? Canon to main ME plot w/ emphasis on character backgrounds, development and relationships plus lots of original content thrown in. Garrus/FemShep. M for language (so far).
1. Prologue

_Author Notes: Some of you may have noticed that I have added this prologue after already publishing the first five chapters of the main story. I decided to retrace my steps a little a give our heroine a solid background to start from since I'll end up referencing these events at different points through the story. I'll be going back to the main story now that this (longer than anticipated) prologue is completed._

 _This story is intended to be a re-telling of the events of the Mass Effect games. The main plot will be based on events in the Bioware storyline (and possibly some side missions), but everything else will be original content. You will start to see more and more original dialogue, situations and background as the story goes on in an attempt to delve deeper into character development and relationships, while still keeping them "in-character." Eventually, I will foster a Garrus/FemShep romance, but it will be slow, so please be patient. I wasn't a big fan of how ME portrayed the romance aspect of the game, so I'll be tinkering with that a bit. Still, this is primarily going to be an adventure fanfic, so the other characters are going to get lots of screen time as well. Also, as a prelude, the Shepard in this story is an Earthborn/Sole Survivor/Soldier Class._

 _Lastly, Mass Effect doesn't belong to me and neither do any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while._

 _Reviews and constructive criticisms are welcome. Enjoy!_

* * *

Prologue

 _(April 6, 2172 - Eleven Years Prior)_

"Ry, hurry it up!" The voice hissed with urgency, its owner glancing anxiously at his wristwatch. "Four minutes and counting."

Riley Shepard gritted her teeth and jammed the 9mm into her waistband, freeing up both hands to rake the crisp bills off the counter into the duffel bag at her feet. They were cutting it close, too close.

"Almost done…"

Her team had been casing this bank for the past two weeks, studying the security guard patrol patterns, mapping customer traffic volume and even triggering alarms to determine police reaction time. She had committed the floor plan, vault codes and the employee emergency protocol to memory. But none of that seemed to have helped. What had started as a well-developed plan had quickly evolved into chaos. Now, they were only four minutes away from disaster.

Like clockwork, the sound of sirens began to wail in the distance. Three minutes now, and full force of the Chicago PD would arrive to ruin their day.

She ripped the zipper closed. "Got it! Let's go!" she yelled, leaping over the prone forms of the several distraught customers and employees in her path. Duffel bag in hand, she slammed into the emergency exit door at a full sprint, holding it open as her three companions dashed through.

The cool spring air did nothing to soothe the burning in her lungs as the group tore through the maze of darkened alleyways. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin under the black balaclava and her breathing came in small ragged gasps. Only when they reached the pre-designated rally point did the four teenagers begin to slow to a jog and remove their masks.

"That…was…awesome!" heaved Hutch between gasps for air, grinning from ear to ear. Despite being only sixteen, Hutch could easily pass for a full adult. His six foot frame and linebacker physique gave him an air of intimidation, though his fun-loving personality and carefree attitude often shattered the illusion as soon as one got to know him. A shock of neon green hair fell over his left eye as he nudged the team's youngest member playfully, raising his hand for a high-five.

Kit, only twelve, had to jump to reach Hutch's proffered palm. The polar opposite of Hutch, Kit could manipulate his slender build with a measure of stealth and speed that rivaled that of even the most accomplished professional thief. His small stature enabled him to infiltrate potential targets and conduct reconnaissance without detection. While Hutch was the brawn of the team, Kit was the eyes and ears. His ceaseless energy and innocence of youth had endeared him to all of the team, but he and Hutch had developed a particularly close bond, often teasing one another affectionately.

"Hutch...," chided Shepard, eyeing their antics. "Save the celebration until we make it back to The Hotel. You know that."

He nodded in response, but continued to whisper excitedly to Kit as they discussed the heist with adrenaline-induced euphoria.

"That really was too close, Ry…" said Blane in a low voice, dropping back and matching her pace. At twenty-one, Blane was four years her senior. His soft-spoken presence provided a level of maturity and level-headedness that Shepard had come to rely upon since he had requested to join her team within the last year. Despite being older than her, he had always accepted her authority and offered suggestions and criticisms only when she requested them, which she often did. Right now, though, his normally steady temperament was laced with concern.

"No shit," Shepard replied curtly, slowing her pace until they were out of earshot of Hutch and Kit. "I told him it was too risky. I warned him..." Her voice began to rise as she clenched her fists at her sides.

Blane remained silent, recognizing her need to vent her frustration.

"It was too crowded, the alarm systems were too advanced…there were too many unknowns! We had to leave too much to chance, and for what? To make a name for ourselves?" She was seething now, a snowball of red anger gathering momentum. She shook her head, sighing. "Having four minutes to spare is concerning enough, but, with that security guard…"

"…we were only seconds away," finished Blane somberly.

She nodded. It was the situation with the security guard that had bothered her most about the whole ordeal. She had her reservations about the target from the beginning. The bank was in a conspicuous location, offering little by way of covered escape routes. To make matters worse, it was newly renovated, which meant an influx of customer traffic, state of the art silent alarms and heightened security presence. It was this last factor that nearly compromised the whole operation, when an extra security guard was unexpectedly added to the rotation in the midst of the heist. He emerged from the staff room to find frightened employees and customers prostrate on the tile floor with four armed robbers in ski masks standing over them. It was only Shepard's notoriously quick reflexes that saved Hutch's life. The security guard was a mere ten feet away from him and preparing to pull the trigger when she beat him to it, shooting him in the thigh from across the room. It hadn't been a kill shot, but she doubted that would grant her any leniency in the eyes of the court.

It wasn't the first time she had fired her weapon, but she resented having to do so when the situation could have been so easily avoided altogether. Had she been given the option, she would have chosen from a laundry list of other smaller banks that could have produced just as much bounty. That's what they had always done before – selecting targets with outdated alarm systems and security guards who preferred napping over making rounds. Go in, scare everybody into submission, take the money, leave. Usually, they didn't even have to draw their weapons.

But that was before Raul. Raul was the current leader of the Tenth Street Reds, a street gang composed of about seventy teenagers and young adults including Shepard and her team. Ruthless and quick-tempered, Raul had assumed leadership of the gang nine months ago when their former leader, Bryant, had been arrested during a botched jewelry store heist.

Shepard had liked Bryant. It was under his reign that she had found a family in the Reds. Abandoned by her father before she was even born and orphaned by her mother who died from complications in childbirth, she had spent her first ten years of life bouncing around a defunct foster care system made up of drug-addled couples looking for a government tax write-off rather than a daughter. At eleven, she decided to take her chances on the street, relying on sympathetic fry cooks for scraps of food and inattentive passer-bys for a quick pickpocket. It wasn't long before she unwittingly stumbled into Red territory, attempting a dip into the pockets of none other than Bryant himself. She was lucky. Had it been Raul, he would have surely snapped her neck right on the spot. But Bryant was impressed enough with her tenacity that he overlooked her misstep, offering her a spot in the Reds. It wasn't long before she started accompanying small teams on raids, quickly commanding respect for her natural athletic ability and cool composure under pressure. Several team leaders lobbied Bryant to make her a permanent fixture on their teams over the few years that followed. By sixteen, she had earned her own team, and a spot in Bryant's inner circle. Bryant commanded a strong loyalty within the gang which, in turn, elevated her own status as one of his most trusted subordinate leaders. Under Bryant's leadership, the gang functioned as a well-oiled machine, committing only the petty crimes necessary for the survival of the group and coasting under the radar of law enforcement. Bellies stayed full, morale was high – one could almost pretend they were part of a normal family.

But with Raul, that had all changed. Raul believed the Tenth Street Reds were too soft. He longed for the fame and notoriety that the leaders of the Crips and the Bloods possessed, and that required publicity. He had begun upping the ante, issuing pistols and assault rifles to even the youngest members of the gang and encouraging their use, even when violence was unnecessary. Order was maintained through fear and strict discipline. Steadily, the small-time heists of the past turned into full scale operations in high traffic areas, often treading on the territory of neighbor gangs and invoking bloody retaliation. Raul began to create designated teams to break into the drug trafficking and arms smuggling markets, increasing the attentions of local law enforcement. As the publicity of the Reds increased, so did the death toll.

Shepard shook her head to clear her thoughts. She drew in a deliberate breath. "Raul is getting out of hand, Blane."

"Be careful," Blane responded automatically. "Talk like that can get you killed these days."

"Apparently, avoiding the subject can too," she pointed out, alluding to Hutch's earlier brush with death. "You know, I might still have enough support leftover from Bryant's era to protect me. Raul can't touch me without pissing off a good chunk of the gang. Even he isn't dumb enough to create that kind of rift."

"Maybe…" he trailed off, unconvinced. Clearly, he wasn't comfortable with the idea.

She glanced sidelong at Blane, running a hand through the soft blonde fuzz on her head. She had started buzzing her head when she was fourteen, discovering that hiding obvious indicators of womanhood was not only safer on the streets but was also helpful at masking her identity during heists.

"I'm not thrilled about the idea either," she sighed finally, "but I might be the only one left who can challenge him." It was true. Most of Bryant's inner circle had been arrested at the same time he had been caught. She was the only one with enough status and credibility to garner support from the other gang members who were too afraid to voice their concerns themselves. As powerful as he was, Raul still couldn't ignore the desires of the majority. "Maybe he'll back down when he sees that the rest of the gang feels the same way."

Blane opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short as they approached the entrance to The Hotel. The Hotel was the large abandoned warehouse that the Tenth Street Reds called home. It had gotten its moniker ironically, since nothing about the decrepit structure could be likened to the comfort of an actual hotel. But, it offered shelter and ample room for the gang to sleep, eat and socialize. That was more than Shepard could say about most of the places she had slept before joining the Reds.

Once inside The Hotel, she made a beeline to the stairwell. She knew exactly where Raul would be this time of day. Hutch and Kit followed her curiously, while Blane had already started ascending the stairs ahead of her, anticipating her intentions.

They found Raul on the fourth floor, head bent over a map of the city. He utilized this area as his makeshift war room. Here, he monitored current operations and selected new targets based on prominence and visibility. A battered radio sat in the corner, its dial set to the local news station. He measured the success of their crimes based on how many times the Reds were mentioned during primetime.

He looked up as she approached, along with many other gang members that were lounging in the area. "You're back," he stated matter-of factly, "Is that the bounty?" He tilted his chin toward the duffel bag slung around her shoulder.

In answer, she let the bag slide to the floor with a loud thud.

A thin-lipped smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he crossed muscular arms over his broad chest. "I've got to hand it to you, Ry. You've caught us a big fish. They're already saying it's this year's most daring crime on the radio."

"Daring? Try idiotic. Hutch was almost killed."

"You expected it to be easy?" he drawled, raising his eyebrows until they almost disappeared into the jet black spikes of his hair.

"No, I expected it to be damn near impossible." She struggled to keep her voice even, though her anger threatened to boil over. "How could I not, with all these risks you are making us take in the name of publicity? It's reckless, and our people are dying for it."

A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned in her direction. There was a challenge in her words, a question as to Raul's competence to lead the Reds. To the average gang member, it was a death wish. But this was Riley Shepard, beloved and respected by much of the clan. The outcome was uncertain.

Raul narrowed his dark eyes, bolts of cold fury directed toward her. The silence seemed to stretch on for ages as Shepard steadily met his gaze with her clear blue eyes. She could see him calculating, mentally weighing his options. Finally, he spoke.

"You want an easier assignment? Fine." His voice was clipped but accommodating, betraying none of the malice she had seen in his eyes just moments ago. He bent down over his desk and scribbled a few lines of information on a sheet of paper, briefly consulting the map. "Here," he said, as he tossed it in her direction with a flick of his wrist. It fluttered slowly to her feet as she bent down to retrieve it.

"And the others? I'm sure they'd appreciate a reprieve in the suicide missions too." She was pressing her luck, she knew, but she didn't just come here for herself. She could literally see the eyes of her fellow gang members light up hopefully at the prospect.

Raul drew in a long breath, releasing it slowly. "I'll see what I can do," he forced through gritted teeth.

"Appreciated." Without a backward glance, she turned on her heel and headed back down the stairs, numerous pairs of eyes staring wide-eyed at her retreating form.

Raul waited patiently for the activity in the war room to resume its usual din before summoning two of his subordinates with a twitch of his finger. Extracting another piece of paper from the stack, he created an identical copy of the address and time information he had just provided Shepard. "Your next assignment," he said, sliding the paper across the desk toward them. His eyes glittered as a wry smile crossed his lips. "We've got a problem that needs solving."

* * *

Shepard double-checked the strip of paper she held between her hands. Squinting from her rooftop perch across the street, she could just barely make out the street number emblazoned on the glass door of the jewelry shop: _1402._ She glanced down again. The number matched the figure scribbled on the paper exactly.

Looking to the adjacent roof on her left, she identified the hulking mass that was Hutch and gave him a thumbs-up. She watched intently as Hutch passed the message to Kit and Blane, who had taken up similar surveillance positions on the street level.

This was the place. They were good to go.

She glanced at her watch. It was a silver Seiko that she had picked off a careless businessman who was foolish enough to walk down a Chicago alleyway solo at night. After she'd shoved a gun in his face and relieved him of his wallet and jewelry, he had genuinely thanked her for not killing him. One didn't get many expressions of gratitude in her line of work. In fact, it was the first one she could ever recall having received. A nice watch was a dime a dozen for a criminal like her – but she had kept his to commemorate the occasion in a rare moment of sentiment.

The quartz face now read 3:23 PM. Two more minutes and she would give the signal to set the plan in motion. Surprisingly, Raul appeared to have delivered on his promise of a less risky assignment. The target was nestled in a quiet neighborhood. No customers had entered in the last forty-five minutes and the only employee was a portly woman currently engrossed in a trashy romance novel. Shepard pulled the black mask over her face and raised the grey hood on her faded leather jacket. Her 9mm was cool against the skin of her lower back. She made her way soundlessly down the fire escape to the street level, linking up with Kit and Hutch in the shadows.

On her signal, Blane entered the jewelry store.

The plan was a simple one. They had executed it successfully many times in the past. Blane, with his unassuming crew cut and faded blue jeans, took on the guise of a love struck suitor shopping for an engagement ring. He would spend the next fifteen minutes casually chatting up the clerk and pretending to peruse the jewelry displays. Simultaneously, he would determine the presence of any previously unaccounted for employees or customers and locate any visible alarm triggers or security cameras. He would then position himself so as to immediately subdue the clerk as soon as the rest of the team entered.

The allotted fifteen minutes ticked away slowly until, finally, her watch read 3:40. In a flurry of shouts, the trio rushed into the store. Blane whipped into action instantly, grabbing the clerk and forcing her to the ground. She sobbed in terror as his knee pressed into her lower back, his fingers deftly securing a blindfold over her eyes. A small stack of zip ties lay by his side, awaiting their turn.

"Cameras: left front by the door and center behind the counter. Trigger alarm: under cash register," he barked, without looking up from his work. He began to bind her hands while stuffing a sock into her mouth to quiet her incessant cries.

His clear and concise instructions directed the team's movements and, within moments, the cameras were coated in black spray paint.

A collective sigh of relief passed around the room as the team removed their masks. The initial assault was always the most chaotic and dangerous part of the process. Now that they had established control of the store, they could relax a little and slow down the pace.

Shepard withdrew two black pouches from her jacket, keeping one for herself and tossing the other to Kit with a grin. "Have at it. The shinier the better," she quipped.

Kit flashed her a wide, toothy smile. Trying to find the biggest, most gaudy piece of jewelry in the store had always been a favorite game of his. He flitted between the cases of jewelry in search of a winner.

"You in position, Hutch?" Shepard asked distractedly, practiced eyes already scanning a row of diamond necklaces for the most profitable stone cuts. Hutch had drawn the short straw during the planning phase and was to be the designated lookout for the duration of the heist. It was a lackluster job, but essential. Right now, Hutch would be positioning himself by the rear emergency exit, ensuring that their escape route remained clear and keeping an eye out for any passersby.

"Not exactly," came the response.

But it wasn't Hutch's voice. It was deeper, colder.

She knew who it was before she even turned to face him.

Sure enough, Raul stood near the rear exit, flanked on each side by one of his lackeys. Tall, stocky and muscular, they were an imposing picture in the dim lighting. Held firmly between Raul's arms, Hutch stood motionless, the dark silhouette of a 9mm pistol pressed against his temple.

Shepard leaned back against the display case and crossed her arms over her chest, feigning casual indifference. His surprise entrance was intended to unsettle her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction by appearing so.

"Ah, Raul. I was wondering what your game was. It's not like you to honor your promises," she said coldly.

He let out a humorless laugh in response, appraising her over Hutch's shoulder. She could feel his calculating gaze like a physical chill on her skin, sizing her up. If he could, he would try to gain the upper hand through intimidation.

She'd be damned if she let that happen. Even so, she could feel her heartbeat quickening in her throat.

With a tilt of his chin, he signaled to the two others. "Get their weapons."

Shepard clenched her jaw as unwelcome hands traveled up and down her body, lingering unnecessarily as they passed under her shirt. Both her pistol and switchblade were confiscated and added to the growing pile of her team's only defenses at the opposite end of the room.

Satisfied they were no longer a threat, Raul released Hutch, roughly shoving him aside. He dropped his pistol unceremoniously to his side and began to pace slowly between the maze of display cases, peering disinterestedly at the items within as he passed. Shepard followed him with her eyes, patiently waiting for his next move.

"You've got a lot of potential, Ry," he began evenly. "Smart, quick on your feet, willing to do what it takes to get the job done. I can see why Bryant promoted you so quickly."

"Flattered," she said flatly, her sarcasm earning her a glare of disdain.

"But, we have some fundamental differences, you and I," he continued. "I have a vision for the Reds – power, glory, wealth, respect, admiration. To do that, we have to make sacrifices. We have to take more risks to reap the rewards. But you, you would rather us stagnant in keeping with Bryant's philosophies. Play it safe, don't stir the pot, just survive…" He looked at her with contempt. "Don't you ever get tired of just surviving? Don't you want more?"

"I do," she agreed, "but not at this cost. Not at the expense of our lives."

He shook his head, halting his advance a few feet away from her. "Then we will just have to agree to disagree. And, on principal, I'm okay with disagreeing" His icy gaze connected with hers, his voice lowering with spite as he continued. "But you couldn't keep it to yourself. You had to make it public…question my methods in front of the group." His voice began to rise with anger, each word dripping with venom. "You've sown a seed of doubt in them about my competency."

He paused, appraising her with distaste when she refused to respond. Her blue eyes met his gaze steadily, her chin held high in defiance.

"And I can't have that," he said simply. He leveled his 9mm at her.

The moment she had seen him standing there with a gun to Hutch's head, she had expected it would end something like this. What she hadn't expected, however, was the small blur of youthful energy that darted out from behind the counter and threw itself headlong into the Raul's torso, knocking him off balance before scampering out of reach.

The split second of shock was all she needed to close the distance between them. She was on top of Raul in an instant, her momentum flinging both of them to the ground in a jumble of tangled limbs.

She recovered first, rolling smoothly to her feet. Flying fists and neon green hair flashed in her periphery as the rest of her team grappled with Raul's minions. And there – the metallic glint of Raul's pistol, mere feet away. She lunged toward it.

Her fingertips just grazed the cold metal as she felt a strong hand clench around her ankle, halting her progress. A simultaneous yank brought her crashing down onto her elbows painfully and the world tilted as she was flipped roughly onto her back. Raul crouched over her, pure rage emanating from his every pore.

"A gunshot was too good for you anyway," he growled, his words dripping with malice.

In reply, she bucked her hips, kicking hard. Her right boot connected solidly in the center of his chest with a hollow thud. He grunted in pain as she backpedaled away from him and struggled back to her feet. A full head shorter than him and easily sixty pounds lighter, she was no match for him in strength. If she could just reach that gun…

But he was upon her in an instant, grasping the collar of her jacket and shoving her forcefully against a nearby display case. Stars exploded behind her eyes as the back of her skull connected with the thick glass plating. The adjacent pane fractured from the impact with a loud shatter. He had her pinned now, his forearm pressing unrelentingly against her throat. His flashing eyes never left her face as his other arm stretched out searchingly, open palm combing the inside of the broken case until finally closing around a large, jagged piece of glass.

"I think this will do the trick," he drawled, baring his teeth. He was only inches from her face. She could smell the sweat on his skin, the garlic on his breath. "But just in case, we'd better test it out."

Searing pain engulfed the right side of her face. The razor sharp edge bit into her cheekbone, making its way toward her jawline.

"Shut up goddammit!" he hissed vehemently in her ear. Suddenly, the piece of glass was pressing painfully against her lips in warning. She hadn't even known she was screaming.

 _BANG!_

A deafening crack rang out in the store. Raul ducked instinctively, slackening his hold on Shepard as she twisted free of his grasp. The metallic tang of blood was thick on her tongue. She spat in disgust, wiping her mouth with her sleeve and steeling herself for another attack.

But it never came. A stillness had instead descended on the room, the eerie silence in stark contrast to the mayhem of just seconds before. All eyes gravitated toward the back of the store, where a small figure was doubled over in pain. She could see Kit's petite hands pressed to his side, covered in a film of bright red. Behind him stood a solitary figure, one of Raul's lackeys. His eyes were wide as he let the smoking pistol drop to the floor with a harsh clang.

"I…I didn't mean to. We were wrestling and….and it just went off…," he stammered, shaking his head repeatedly. His eyes darted around in pronounced panic.

Shepard felt frozen in time, struggling to comprehend it all. The pool of blood, the gun, Kit's body on the floor. The dots were all there, but her mind refused to connect them.

It was the familiar wail of approaching sirens that jarred the group back to life. Raul sprang into action, grabbing his own pistol off the floor and slamming in roughly in his waistband. "That bitch must have tipped them off," he grunted, gesturing to the now vacant corner where the clerk had been. She was no doubt long gone by now, having taken advantage of their preoccupation to escape. He jogged to the rear door, looking back expectantly at his two underlings. "Let's go!" he barked. The urgency in his voice spurred the two to action. Kit's shooter followed numbly behind his companions as they rushed from the store.

Hutch was already kneeling over Kit when she reached him, Blane close behind. Kit clung on to life feebly, his skin ghostly white and his chest heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Hutch cradled his head gently in his arms. "C'mon buddy. It'll be alright. Just gotta get you to a doctor and they'll patch you right up," he said, his voice cracking with desperation.

The harsh blare of the sirens began to fill the room, closing quickly. Her mouth set in a grim line, she leveled her gaze at Blane. "You have to go," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Ry…,"

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "If he's going to have a chance, one of us needs to stay with him. I would have been dead if it wasn't for him. I owe him this much." Her eyes were clear, stubborn resolve shining in them.

It was useless to argue when her mind was so clearly made up, he knew.

Shaking his head in begrudging obedience, Blane rose and placed a steady hand on Hutch's shoulder, tugging him gently. "Time to go, Hutch."

But Hutch would have none of it, shrugging off Blane's hand roughly. His eyes were wild with grief, his rationality slipping away like sand through fingers. He remained bent over Kit's prone form, mumbling repeated reassurances.

The sirens were almost on top of them now, and there was no time for sympathy. Shepard stood quickly, sliding her hands under Hutch's arms and yanking him to his feet with a great heave. "Blane, get him out of here!" Shepard yelled as he jumped in to assist her. Blane nodded, grunting with effort as he forcibly dragged Hutch toward the rear exit.

"No! No!" Hutch screamed, struggling against Blane's iron hold. She could hear the frantic shrieks following him as Blane wrestled him across the floor, finally shoving him out the door.

And then they were alone – her and her youngest protégé. She swiftly shrugged off her jacket, sawing off the fabric hood with a nearby piece of glass and gingerly pressing the thick cotton to Kit's side to staunch the bleeding. He didn't stir. He was completely still now, and she could no longer detect the rise and fall in his chest. She swallowed the thick lump forming in her throat.

She had just pressed two shaky fingers to Kit's throat, searching for a pulse, when screeching tires and slamming car doors announced the presence of Chicago's finest.

Her hands were in the air before they even entered.

In the tumult that followed, Shepard found herself face down on her stomach and surrounded by a variety of loaded weapons. The metallic clanking of handcuffs as they snapped around her wrists sounded muffled as she followed their sharp commands in a dreamlike haze. Not once did she offer any resistance. Instead, she watched in silence as the paramedics knelt over Kit, shaking their heads as they tried to locate a pulse that she already knew didn't exist.

* * *

"What about the drugs? The weapons? We know the Reds are hiding the caches in a warehouse somewhere in the city. We know the identities of some of the suppliers. So where's the goods?"

Shepard let her head drop into her hands, running her palms back and forth across her spiky scalp in exasperation. Her elbows rested on the solitary table in the room. "Look, I told you," she replied tiredly, "I wasn't involved in any of the drug or weapons smuggling side of things. That's not my department."

Detective Schultz slammed his palms down on the interrogation room's metal table in frustration, his mustache puffing out and he snorted indignantly.

Raising her head from her hands, she met his glare steadily. "If you don't believe it when I say it, then just think about it logically." Her tone was slow and measured. "If I was so informed about the intricacies of all the gang's operations, would they really have left me there to fall into your hands for interrogation?" She shook her head, answering her own question. "No, I would be too valuable. They would have either ensured my escape, or they would have ensured my silence by killing me."

The detective eyed her warily, taking in her rumpled clothing, the fresh cuts on her face and the remnants of dried blood still under her fingernails.

"Looks like they tried…," he observed.

She didn't respond, merely running her fingers lightly across the track of newly stitched skin on her cheek and upper lip absently. With the violent crime rate so high in the Chicago slums, Medi-gel was often scarce. She'd had to settle with the traditional method of dressing wounds.

"Alright," he ceded with a huff, letting his hands fall to rest on his hips. "You don't know anything about the drug and weapons. You've told us what you know about Raul. All that's left is to talk about you, Riley."

"Hooray," she said flatly. She was sure this conversation would not be pleasant.

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm as he withdrew a small datapad from the inside pocket of his sport coat. "Let's see," he mused thumbing through the virtual pages. "Age: 17. Mother: Hannah Shepard, deceased. Father: Unknown. Associations: The Tenth Street Reds…." he trailed off as he continued to scroll through.

Shepard propped her chin up on the heel of her hand disinterestedly, elbow resting on the table.

"Ah, here we are," he exclaimed finally. "Outstanding Warrants: 18. Larceny, trespassing, criminal mischief, grand theft auto, burglary, armed robbery, assault, assault and battery..." He ticked away each separate charge on his fingers, glaring at her distastefully as he completed reading the list. "And these are just the crimes we were able to get enough evidence to get a warrant." He paused pointedly, waiting for her response.

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked at him apathetically. "I don't know what you want me to say here," she said finally. She knew enough not to admit to anything, but she also saw no point in denying it with the overwhelming evidence against her.

Detective Schultz shook his head slowly in disappointment. "If it were up to me, I would charge you as an adult and have you locked away for a very, very long time. Quite frankly, I think you're a menace to society and deserve nothing less for your crimes," he said blatantly.

She nodded, expecting as much.

"But not everybody agrees with me," he continued gruffly.

Shepard watched in confusion as the detective gestured at some unknown individual through the two-way glass in the interrogation room. A moment later, another man stepped into the harsh light.

She barely recognized him at first. His signature faded blue jeans and black hoodie had been replaced by a tailored suit, his normally ruffled dark hair combed to the side smartly. A large, golden detective badge hung from a lanyard around his neck.

"Blane," she breathed, her face a mirror of confusion and shock.

"Hi Ry," he returned with a lopsided grin. She could see him grimace at the effort. His nose had clearly been broken in the fight and recently reset. A stark white bandage now covered its bridge to hold it in place.

"I don't…how…," she stammered, her shock getting the best of her. She took a deep, measured breath as she fought to organize her thoughts and regain her composure. She started again evenly, "What's going on here?" Her gaze flitted back and forth between Blane and Schultz suspiciously.

Schultz was the first to speak. "Detective Chase here has been on an undercover assignment with The Tenth Street Reds since we began to notice the dangerous shift toward violence after the previous leader was taken down. He's been busy gathering the necessary intelligence on Raul and monitoring the gang's operations."

Her fists clenched against the edge of the table, her knuckles white. All this time, her teammate, her friend, had all been a lie. She had believed it all and let him in on all their secrets. He knew almost as much as she did about the Reds, thanks to her blind trust in him. How could she have been so ignorant as to have not even suspected him?

Anger at her own shortsightedness transformed quickly into fury at Blane himself for misleading all of them. "How could you?" she demanded sharply, ice in her gaze and her voice razor sharp.

Blane faltered slightly at the hate in her eyes. While he had seen it directed at others before, she had only ever directed warm camaraderie and composed assurance at him. Still, past the verbal onslaught of anger and bitterness, he could just detect the faint hint of hurt at his betrayal in her voice.

"I was only trying to take down Raul. I never had anything against you or Hutch or Kit. That friendship was genuine," he explained, emphasizing his final words ardently.

"You should be thanking him, you know," broke in Detective Schultz, "He took some time off his double life to come in here and defend you."

"Defend me?"

Schultz nodded, continuing, "Seems Chase thinks that, while you are certainly extremely misguided, you don't deserve to be in prison for most of your life."

Shepard scoffed in disbelief, turning to Blane. "Don't deserve it? You've seen everything I've done firsthand! I didn't think the law had that much of a gray area."

"Perhaps," nodded Blane, "but you're not like Raul and the others. You're not the cold blooded, heartless killers they are. You stood up to the senseless violence, trying to protect us on your team. You have integrity, moral courage, loyalty…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not dismissing the crimes you've committed. You need to be punished for them, certainly. What I'm suggesting is that your punishment shouldn't be the same as Raul and his lackeys. There's a distinct difference between them and you. You don't deserve to rot in prison for the rest of your life like they do. They are too far gone, but you can still make something out of your life."

She blinked at his surprising assessment of her. Nobody had ever described her as anything more than an unredeemable criminal, nor had she ever seen herself as such.

"What are you suggesting?" she said slowly, after a long pause.

"You turn eighteen in five days. At that time, we can either charge you as an adult for your crimes and begin the judicial proceedings, or we can hand you over to the Alliance military for immediate enlistment. My father is a recruiter. He's agreed to see you," Blane proposed, appraising her reaction hopefully.

Detective Schultz glanced pointedly at Blane, clearly unhappy with the idea. "Don't make it sound so easy, Detective Chase," he chided. Then, turning his attention to her, "They've only agreed to accept you if specific criteria are met. You'll have physical screenings, mental aptitude tests and psych profiles you'll have to pass. Most importantly, one slip up, no matter how insignificant, and you're back here watching that poor security guard up on the witness stand talking about how you shot him in cold blood." He shook his head. "You're lucky they're so desperate for soldiers right now trying to expand the fleet and all, or you'd be doing that anyway."

Shepard looked both of them squarely in the eye. She didn't know anything about the military or space travel or alien species, but still, it was a no-brainer.

"Where do I sign?"


	2. Chapter 1 - Shakedown Cruise

_Author Notes: This story is intended to be a re-telling of the events of the Mass Effect games. The main plot will be based on events in the Bioware storyline (and possibly some side missions), but everything else will be original content. You will start to see more and more original dialogue, situations and background as the story goes on in an attempt to delve deeper into character development and relationships, while still keeping them "in-character." Eventually, I will foster a Garrus/FemShep romance, but it will be slow, so please be patient. I wasn't a big fan of how ME portrayed the romance aspect of the game, so I'll be tinkering with that a bit. Still, this is primarily going to be an adventure fanfic, so the other characters are going to get lots of screentime as well. Also, as a prelude, the Shepard in this story is an Earthborn/Sole Survivor/Soldier Class._

 _Lastly, Mass Effect doesn't belong to me and neither do any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while._

 _Reviews and constructive criticisms are welcome. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 1

Shakedown Cruise

Lieutenant Commander Riley Shepard paced absently around her small cabin, her blue eyes flitting across a datapad containing technical specifications on the SSV Normandy. She knew the frigate was considered to be an engineering marvel, the first collaboration between humans and turians and the best ship the Alliance military now had to offer, but hell if she could make sense of the detailed schematics Captain David Anderson had provided her. Still, as the ship's executive officer, it was her responsibility to know what kind of asset she and the crew were now calling home, so with renewed determination, she flipped to the next page in the digital manual.

A slight slowing in the ship's inertia alerted her that they had reached the mass relay and were preparing to make the jump to the Utopia system. Utopia was home to Eden Prime, one of the first successful human colonies known for its lush farmland and agriculture. It was also the current destination for the Normandy's inaugural shakedown cruise. Shepard stowed her datapad in her desk and left her cabin, glad for the reprieve in studying.

The Normandy's bridge wasn't far from her cabin, but she still needed to hurry if she wanted to make it before the jump. She strode through the CIC, acknowledging the familiar faces and the mumbled _"Commander"s_ with a nod. She was still unfamiliar with the majority of the crew, but she noted with satisfaction the way they worked together seamlessly at each workstation. Despite so little time training together, they were the definition of efficiency. This would be a good crew.

She arrived on the bridge just in time for the mass relay jump, but she wasn't the first. Nihlus, turian tagalong and everybody's favorite water-cooler gossip subject, was standing directly behind the pilot seat. Officially, Captain Anderson had informed her, Nihlus was here as the turian representative for the shakedown cruise and his intent was to observe how the Normandy and her state of the art stealth drive performed. But it was Nihlus' status as a council Spectre that had most of the crew, her included, suspicious of his true motives. To his credit, Nihlus played the role of casual observer well, remarking offhandedly on the Normandy's drift rate before departing the bridge and leaving Shepard alone with the pilot.

"I hate that guy." The Normandy's pilot, Jeff "Joker" Moreau, wasted no time in declaring his position on the matter. Subtlety had never been his strong suit and he wasn't interested in going along with the party tagline when it was so clearly a cover for something bigger. He didn't know Commander Shepard very well, but he hoped that she wasn't so naïve as to disagree. "A Spectre, just here to 'observe'? Call me paranoid, but only an idiot would believe the official story."

To Joker's relief, Shepard nodded in agreement. "They don't send Council Spectres on shakedown runs…." she mused.

She had tried to pry more information from Captain Anderson when she heard Nihlus would be joining them, but he had shut her down and, as much as she hated being kept in the dark, she trusted Anderson and his judgment completely. He had personally requested that she join the crew of the Normandy only six months prior to serve as his executive officer. She still didn't know why – she had been aware of his impressive military exploits along with every other soldier in the Alliance but had never spoken to him prior to his request. She had been honored, albeit more than a little intimidated, to serve as second-in-command under such a decorated officer. But since joining his crew six months ago, she had learned to rely on him as a mentor and he in turn provided a sterling example of command leadership for her to follow. So when Anderson told her to drop the subject of Nihlus, she complied without argument. He would tell her what she needed to know when the time was right.

As if on cue, Captain Anderson's gruff voice came in over the intercom, requesting her presence in the Comm Room for a debriefing. "On my way, sir," she responded automatically, already turning toward the aft section of the ship.

The CIC was still teeming with activity as she sauntered through, combat boots resounding off the metal flooring. Through the din of system updates and navigation checks, whisperings of mistrust and theories about the 'real' mission wafted around her. Most of the crew had the wherewithal to avert their eyes and change the subject as she passed, but she could still hear plenty of others expressing their opinions about Nihlus and Captain Anderson. It wasn't anything she hadn't already wondered herself, but it was a bad sign that the crew had started to openly discuss it. She could see the suspicion in their eyes as she passed. Undoubtedly, they assumed she knew something and was keeping it secret. She shook her head as she continued across the deck. The secrecy was driving a wedge between the leadership and its soldiers and sowing distrust among the ranks. Captain Anderson needed to come clean quickly, or they would have an unloyal crew to contend with.

Shepard entered the Comm Room, but it was Nihlus who greeted her. Captain Anderson was nowhere to be seen. "I'm looking for Captain Anderson. He requested that I meet him here," she stated to the turian.

"On his way, but I'm glad you're here. It will give us a chance to talk."

Shepard eyed him warily. Somehow she didn't think this turian was interested in a get-to-know-you session. "Alright," she replied slowly. "About what?"

"Eden Prime," he said, taking a step toward her. "I've heard it's quite beautiful," he trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry, I wouldn't know. Never been," she said with an indifferent shrug. If it was intel he was looking for, he certainly wasn't going to get it from her.

"But you know of it. You must. The colony has become a sort of symbol for your people, proving that humanity can not only successfully expand in the galaxy, but that it can sustain and protect those colonies." He appraised her for a moment, cocking his head slightly before continuing. "But how safe is it, really?"

The question hung in the air, dripping with implications. But exactly what he was implying, Shepard wasn't sure. Was this a threat from an enemy or a warning from an ally? Shepard hadn't know Nihlus long enough to place him as a friend or foe and she didn't have enough experience with turians to read his body language or facial expressions. Regardless, she didn't have time to tip-toe around the issue. If there really was a threat to Eden Prime, she needed to know now. She crossed her arms across her chest, her tone clipped. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

Nihlus opened his mouth to reply but stopped short at the timely arrival of Captain Anderson. Shepard tore her calculating gaze away from Nihlus long enough to salute her commanding officer. Anderson returned the salute, acknowledging Nihlus with a nod. "It's time we told the commander here what's really going on," he said to Nihlus. It wasn't a suggestion.

Nihlus turned his attention to Commander Shepard. "This mission is more than a simple shakedown run, Commander."

Shepard smirked, biting back a sarcastic reply to such an obvious statement. It was clear that Captain Anderson trusted Nihlus with whatever else was going on here, and if Anderson trusted him, then she would give him the benefit of the doubt. She nodded, turning to Anderson. "I figured. So what's really going on?"

Anderson proceeded to give her the full briefing on the Normandy's maiden mission. The Normandy was to use its superior stealth drive technology to pick up a Prothean beacon unearthed during a recent excavation on the surface of Eden Prime and deliver it to the Citadel for further study. The Council seemed to think that such a technological discovery from the Protheans, an advanced race that disappeared mysteriously over 50,000 years ago, could potentially provide another leap in the advancement of civilization. After all, most other Prothean discoveries – the mass relays and the Citadel itself – had played pivotal roles in the exploration of the galaxy. Without these discoveries, humanity would still be wondering if there was life on other planets. Both Nihlus and Anderson agreed with the Council's assessment of the importance of this mission, and the secrecy surrounding it. If the wrong person got a hold of the beacon, they could have access to something very valuable, and even dangerous.

The mission seemed straightforward enough, but Nihlus seemed anxious, pacing around the briefing room and occasionally zoning out of the conversation. She recognized that behavior. She saw it routinely in her men before dropping into a known hot zone. She saw it in herself when the status report _'enemy in the area'_ came over the radio. Nihlus was expecting trouble. And now, so was she.

"There's more, Shepard," Anderson continued, pausing momentarily to glance at Nihlus. "Nihlus isn't just here for the beacon. He's also here to evaluate you."

"Evaluate? What for?"

"I've put your name forward to the Council as a candidate for the Spectres," Nihlus broke in. Shepard couldn't hide the surprise that registered on her features. She'd barely spoken to Nihlus before this briefing, not to mention that he was a turian. Turian-human relations, while peaceful and diplomatic, had never been warm. As if reading her mind, Nihlus expanded, "Your service record with the Alliance has acted as your resume. What you experienced on Akuze shows a remarkable will to survive and to fight. Captain Anderson, as well as all your prior superiors, has the utmost confidence in your abilities. You have demonstrated leadership, sound judgment and combat prowess throughout your career. The Spectres are need of somebody with your skill set."

Anderson regarded Shepard silently. He knew her service record backwards and forwards. It was why he had requested her to be his executive officer when he was given the opportunity to handpick the Normandy's crew. After getting to know her on a more personal level, he was even more convinced that she would bring credit to humanity if she was accepted into the Spectres, even if she herself was unsure. But it was her reaction to the nomination that he wasn't so sure of. Shepard had endured a hard life on the urban streets of Chicago back on Earth before joining the Alliance and, while she had never spoken much about that time, he knew that she credited the Alliance with giving her a life worth living. It was a debt that she strove to repay with every mission she went on. She would do anything the Alliance requested of her, no matter how seemingly impossible or how unpleasant, and with a smile on her face. But to ask her to join the Spectres was to ask her to give up her beloved Alliance in favor of the Council's authority. Anderson wasn't sure she would see the nomination as the prestigious honor that Nihlus was trying to convey.

Shepard remained silent after Nihlus finished speaking, considering the ramifications of potentially becoming the first human Spectre. The response was a no-brainer, really. Spectres worked alone, she enjoyed working with a squad. Spectres reported to the Council, she had no interest in other-species affairs outside of the Alliance. She had no desire to become a Spectre. She started to shake her head, already forming the words to turn down Nihlus' offer, when Captain Anderson chimed in.

"The Alliance brass wants a chance to become more involved with interstellar policy. Humanity is ready to play a larger part in the galaxy. Having a human in the Spectres would be the first step to making that happen." He paused, and then, softer, "Earth needs this, Shepard."

Shepard knew Anderson was doing her the courtesy of not making it a direct order. He was giving her a choice, a gesture that was appreciated. But if her becoming a Spectre was something the Alliance brass wanted, then direct order or not, she would get the job done.

She turned to Nihlus. "I'll do it."

"Good to hear," he responded. "I'll be going with you on this mission the next several after to observe. I need to see you in action for myself before I make the official recommendation."

She nodded her acquiescence as Captain Anderson began to discuss the finite details of the mission. Her responsibility would be to lead a small ground team to the beacon and secure it for pickup. "We should be arriving on Eden Prime in abo -"

"Captain, incoming transmission from Eden Prime!" broke in Joker's urgent voice from the intercom. Then, in a darker tone, "You're going to want to see this."

Anderson, Shepard and Nihlus crowded around the video feed as Joker patched through the message. The images depicted on the screen were a scene of chaos. Bullets and particle beams ripped through the air as the sound of explosions and rampant gunfire filled the comm room. A small squad of soldiers appeared to be pinned down by a yet unseen enemy. Shepard saw the Alliance insignia emblazoned on their armor. The image of a soldier's face filled the screen as he made a frantic distress call. Even under his helmet, you could see the sweat pouring from his forehead and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. This had been a long and intense fight. _"We're taking heavy casualties! Need immediate evac,"_ he panted. _"They came out of nowhere!"_ They were his last words as he was struck directly in the chest with some sort of weapon blast and propelled backwards from the force. A kill shot, she knew. She didn't recognize the weapon's blast signature. And then an image of something else she didn't recognize. Some sort of large machinery, descending from the sky.

"Joker, pause the transmission there," ordered Anderson.

It was nothing like any of them had ever seen. It appeared to be some sort of large spacecraft with multiple structures protruding from the main body, like legs on a bug. To Shepard, it looked like a giant metal hand descending from the sky. Red tendrils of static electricity bounced between the digits. Shepard exchanged a concerned glance with Anderson.

Nihlus was already mobilizing, checking his weapon and referencing planetary information with his omni-tool. "I'll meet you in the cargo hold when you're ready, Commander," he called over his shoulder, already striding out of the room.

"We should be at the landing zone in about fifteen minutes, Shepard," said Anderson, eyes still resting on the image of the strange ship on the screen. "Have Alenko and Jenkins suit up. They'll be joining you for this one. Primary objective for the mission is still to secure the beacon. Everything else is secondary, including assisting the colonists."

Shepard nodded her understanding and turned to leave.

"And Shepard…" She paused, looking at him expectantly. "Be careful. This mission just got a lot more complicated."


	3. Chapter 2 - Eden Prime: Part 1

_Author Notes: Introducing a couple new faces in this one. I'm doing my best to keep the established ME characters as "in-character" as possible while still expanding their storylines and personalities. Also, I'm not an expert in the technicalities of the ME universe, so some of the detailed inner workings of the technologies, space travel, etc might not be perfect. I filled in some of the holes with my own assumptions. If it's something really glaring, feel free to mention it in the comments and I'll try to fix it in later chapters._

 _As always, Mass Effect doesn't belong to me and neither do any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while._

 _Shout out to Oxiddi for being my very first review ever!_

 _Reviews and constructive criticisms are welcome. Eden Prime: Part 2 will be up soon. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 2

Eden Prime: Part 1

Shepard methodically laid out the necessary equipment on her bunk in preparation for her pre-combat check. It was the same routine before every mission, no matter if it was a simple cargo drop or a front line assault. It was something they had preached religiously at N7 training – do it the same way, every time, and you'll never miss anything. She had taken it to heart and, so far, it had paid dividends. She started at the top left corner and worked her way clockwise, meticulously checking all her armor components for damage, verifying full shield power cell charge and ensuring she had a full load of heat sinks and medi-gel packs. At this point in the process, any additional mission-critical equipment was also checked for full functionality, but for this particular mission, no specialized items would be required. She would just need herself, her armor and some firepower. Lots and lots of firepower.

Pulling out her datapad, she sent a quick message to her two new squadmates requesting a status update on their own equipment checks. This would be her first mission with both men. Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, her senior squad member, had a good reputation as a reliable and level-headed soldier with high biotic aptitude. She had spoken to him on a couple occasions after the daily operations meeting that all officers were required to attend, but that had been the extent of their relationship until today. Her second squadmate, Corporal Richard Jenkins, however, was all but a stranger to her. A couple quick chats with his fellow crewmembers eventually led her to his workstation in the CIC, where it quickly became evident that she needn't have put any effort into finding him. If she hadn't located him already herself, she was sure he would have tracked her down and sought her out directly. The kid was chomping at the bit to get some action and could barely stand still long enough for her to complete the mission brief. After she dismissed him, he had practically scampered down the corridor to his quarters. He was young, yes, but he had grown up on Eden Prime and his knowledge of the area could be invaluable. She was sure this was why Anderson had selected him to accompany her on the mission.

Her fingers worked quickly, deftly securing the final clasps on her chestplate. She cradled her helmet under her arm, roughly pulling on a pair of tactical gauntlets with her teeth as the cabin door hissed shut behind her. A quick stop by the armory and she would be ready to go.

"The usual?" queried the specialist working the armory locker. Charismatic and extremely passionate about his job, Specialist Perez could talk for hours about the subtle differences between each year model of the Kessler series pistols. Shepard enjoyed their occasional debates over which weapons manufacturer was really superior and how to best properly create the optimum accuracy testing conditions for a sniper rifle.

"Am I that predictable?" she scoffed lightheartedly.

He merely grinned in response as he laid out an assault rifle and heavy pistol on the armory bench before her. Like most soldiers, the assault rifle was her weapon of choice, offering a balanced harmony of accuracy, fire rate and damage. The heavy pistol acted primarily as a back-up, typically remaining in its holster the entirety of the mission. She was equally deadly with either.

After a quick visual inspection, she holstered the pistol on her back and picked up the assault rifle. The metal felt cool in her hands and she felt the tinge of adrenaline starting to trickle through her veins. After years of combat training, her body had subconsciously conditioned itself to react when she held a weapon.

"Thanks, Perez," she said as she applied her digital signature to the datapad containing the weapon check-out log.

"Happy hunting, Commander."

* * *

She reached the cargo bay with five minutes to spare. Nihlus was preoccupied making small adjustments to the sights on his assault rifle while Corporal Jenkins hovered over his shoulder, watching the turian work with interest. Nihlus' mandibles twitched with what Shepard could only assume was agitation as he attempted to answer yet another question from Jenkins about turian culture. Sighing inwardly, she strode toward the two. She didn't know Nihlus personally, but she was pretty certain that turians weren't known for their patience. Best to not poke the bear.

"Commander Shepard," exclaimed Jenkins with a salute and a grin as he spotted her approaching. She gestured for him to fall in step with her as she crossed toward the cargo bay hatch, catching Nihlus' knowing eye as she passed. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod of gratitude as he turned his attention back to his weapon sights.

"Thanks for taking me along on this mission with you, Commander," Jenkins said as they approached the bulkhead. "I've been itching for some real action. I won't let you down, I promise. This is my chance to show the Alliance brass what I can really do!"

Shepard leaned against the bulkhead, rolling her neck and lightly stretching out her arms and legs to loosen them up. Jenkins followed her example and began to do the same. "Don't get too overeager, Corporal," she advised. "You're young. You've got plenty of years ahead of you in this career. Rushing into something is only going to get you hurt, or worse." She straightened up as she saw Alenko enter the cargo bay and head toward them.

"Easy for you to say. You already proved yourself at Akuze. What you did there was amazing. How did you do it, Commander?"

Alenko, who had since joined the duo by the bulkhead, stiffened beside her. It was poor form to bring up a soldier's prior combat history, especially when it involved so many friendly casualties. As a seasoned soldier, Alenko understood that. Jenkins, with limited battlefield experience, clearly did not.

To her credit, Shepard handled the unknowing blunder with grace and didn't miss a beat. "That's not a memory I'm fond of reliving," she replied evenly as she readjusted the fit of her holstered pistol on her back. It wasn't the first time she had been asked that question, and it wouldn't be the last. Akuze had been six years ago, yet the story seemed to only gain momentum with age. In that time, she was certain that it had been embellished, misremembered and warped so much that the currently circulated version was far more legend than truth. Regardless, the events of that day preceded her wherever she went – her reputation in the Alliance built on a foundation of ghosts. Her response to such inquiries about it had become automatic.

She could feel the Normandy slowing as they approached the drop zone. Joker had already started lowering the cargo bay platform and the wind whistled past the widening opening. With it came the acrid smell of burning earth. She did a final helmet-to-helmet communications check with her squad, her rifle resting lightly in her hands.

Nihlus approached the group, addressing Shepard. "I'm going to scout up ahead. I'll radio you status updates and pertinent information. Stay in contact." And just like that, he was gone, jumping off the loading ramp without even waiting for Joker to land.

Moments later, the platform made contact with the planet's surface. Shepard was already halfway down the ramp when she looked back over her shoulder at Jenkins. "Just remember what I said earlier and don't do anything stupid."

* * *

Upon exiting the Normandy, the squad immediately took cover and scanned the immediate area for enemies. Joker had dropped them off on the apex of a rocky hill. A sheer cliff face provided protection to the rear and a well-traveled path stretched in front of them. Things seemed quiet, at least for the time being.

Shepard relaxed slightly, and motioned for the squad to rise from their positions. Jenkins, however, was already standing and silently looking out over the cliff face. She approached him slowly, following his gaze. The once serene landscape was now pockmarked with still-smoking craters, with the occasional twisted metal frames of what had once been a grain silos or harvesting plants jutting out from between the fields. Sparse pockets of lush greenery that had escaped the initial bombardment were in stark contrast to the amber glow of smoldering earth that dominated the horizon.

"Eden Prime will never be the same," Alenko remarked softly from behind them, shaking his head.

When Jenkins didn't respond, Shepard clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Jenkins," she stated loudly, trying to wake him from his reverie. Then, softer, "Jenkins, I know it's hard, but I need you with me here."

Her voice reanimated him. "I'm sorry, Commander. It's just…" he hesitated, scanning the horizon where multiple plumes of smoke rose up like giant chimneys. "Oh god, what happened here?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Shepard answered stoically, dropping her hand from her shoulder. "And when we do, we'll make whoever did this pay."

Her words seemed to visibly steel him. He turned, squaring his shoulders with new resolve. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed through gritted teeth, starting down the crude path toward the colony. The others followed his lead, Shepard jogging up to her position in front of the squad and Alenko trailing in the rear.

Even if there hadn't been a path to follow, they could have easily found their way by simply following the trail of bodies. Jenkins spotted the first two in the brush less than ten feet from the trail. He blanched at the sight, but recovered quickly under Shepard's watchful gaze. He was learning quickly to compartmentalize his emotions, an adaptation essential for a combat solider. He might just make a fine soldier yet, she mused.

Shepard examined the bodies while Alenko and Jenkins kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Both victims were civilians and both had identical entry wounds in their backs, presumably inflicted while they were attempting to flee up the hill. An enemy that didn't distinguish between combatants and non-combatants, and hunted down those in retreat no less, was a dangerous enemy indeed. To Shepard's tactical mind, this was valuable insight into the illusive enemy they were facing. It meant an enemy without a clear objective, and an enemy without a clear objective cannot be negotiated with. An enemy without an objective simply seeks death and destruction not as a means to an end or a consequence of attaining its goal, but instead seeks it as a perpetual means with no definitive end at all. The death doesn't end until either the enemy is defeated, or until there is simply nobody else left to kill.

She hastened the squad down the path. She didn't want the second option to come true for the colony of Eden Prime.

Abruptly, the path down the hill ended, opening up into a much larger flat area dotted with rocky outcroppings. While it offered ample cover for the squad to push forward, it also offered a place for the enemy to hide – and they would have to cross a small open area to get from the bottom of the hill to the nearest rock formation. It would be easy pickings for any enemy with decent aim that was watching. Shepard gave the hand signal for a halt and the squad remained hidden and motionless, scanning the area for any enemy. For five minutes, they crouched in position trying to detect any movement among the rocks. There was nothing, and Shepard could spare no more time waiting. She motioned the squad forward across the open area.

She heard the rounds bouncing off the rocks around them before she ever saw the enemy. Three hovering droids with mounted turrets emerged from their hiding spots. Jenkins was already sprinting through the middle of the open area when they opened fire. He had nowhere to hide, nowhere to take cover, and she watched helplessly as they directed their rapid fire weapons on him. He screamed at first, but the screams ended long before the turrets stopped firing.

She was sprinting across the same opening in an instant. Alenko wasn't far behind, peppering the droids with suppressive fire while she moved to a position to engage them. She slid to her knees as she reached the protection of the outcropping, breathing heavily. A fraction of a second later, she was on her feet again, popping out from behind the cover of the boulder to unleash a burst of rounds at the droids. Alenko had already taken out one, and the other two were quick to follow suit. She signaled to Alenko to hold in position, and together they waited another sixty seconds to ensure there were no more surprises, silent except for their uneven breathing.

Once clear, the two soldiers approached the body now laying face-up in the bloodstained grass. Alenko knelt gingerly, closing Jenkins' eyes with his fingers, while Shepard stood over him, looking on. She already knew what they would find here. Alenko straightened to face her. "Never stood a chance. They ripped right through his shields." His voice was tinged with regret, a regret that she shared. _'You've got plenty of years ahead of you in this career,'_ she had told the kid, barely over an hour ago.

"We'll make sure he gets a proper burial. But right now, there's nothing more we can do for him. We have to continue on with the mission." Her words sounded calloused even to her own ears, but there would be time to mourn later. Until then, compartmentalize. The mission comes first, and they had a beacon to find. "Can I trust you to stay focused, Alenko?"

He nodded firmly and they continued toward the colony, leaving the body Corporal Jenkins behind.

As they picked up the trail again, Shepard received an update from Nihlus. Burned out buildings and more dead bodies. "What about you?" he asked.

"We lost one," she answered, her voice neutral. There were a couple moments of silence before Nihlus responded. "I'm sorry to hear that." He sounded sincere, adding, "Be careful out there, Shepard."

"Likewise."

* * *

The scattered boulders began to give way to thick trees that turned out to be excellent hiding places for more turret droids. Clearly the droids were disposable commodities. What they possessed in firepower, they severely lacked in defensive capabilities. As long as they remained alert and avoided getting caught in the crossfire, Shepard found that she and Alenko could dispatch the droids with relative ease.

A quick burst of gunfire ahead of them brought their steady jog to a full run. If somebody was firing back, that meant that there was still at least one colonist left alive and still actively resisting the enemy. That person also probably had some valuable intel about the enemy they were facing, and perhaps they even knew the location of the beacon.

Shepard pulled Alenko down behind another boulder and they crouched into defensive positions as the gunfire drew closer. A blur of pink and white armor sprinted towards them, followed closely by two turrets unleashing a spray of bullets. The soft blue glow of shields indicated that at least some of the droids' rounds were finding their mark. Luckily, the runner was not only quick, but had good aim. Despite losing footing and stumbling, the runner was able to fire off two perfectly aimed shots from a heavy pistol to neutralize the droids.

Shepard stood to call out to the newcomer when the sound of struggle coming from the left of the now smoldering droid wreckage drew her attention. An older colonist, injured but still alive, was being restrained by two dark-skinned creatures. They held him tightly between them, dragging him toward a domed metal base embedded in the ground while he struggled feebly to resist. He seemed more terrified of the dome than the hulking creatures holding him, and she soon saw why. The creatures forced the colonist down on the metal surface. Without warning, a large spike emerged from dome, impaling him as it rocketed skyward to a height of roughly twenty-five feet. The colonist remained suspended high above the ground, the spike threaded through his torso.

"Holy shit," Alenko murmured, eyes wide. He exchanged a glance with Shepard, to find her expression mirrored his own.

But bullets were flying again, and there was no time to process what they had just seen. The creatures were firing on all three of them, and, unlike the droids, these models were built for long-term combat, complete with regenerating shields. It took several well placed shots from the three of them to bring them down.

Shepard approached the creatures warily, nudging the closest one with the toe of her boot. Her rifle remained at the ready, cradled in the crook of her right shoulder. They were humanoid in design, but their bodies seemed to be made up of a combination of flexible hoses and large dark colored plates. While the components were reminiscent of some of the mechanized combat units she had encountered before, the engineering was markedly more advanced. Likewise, they had moved with a coordination that indicated a much higher level of programming.

"I think they're geth," asserted a feminine voice. The stranger approached, removing her helmet to reveal a young woman with dark brown hair bound haphazardly in a loose bun. The Alliance logo on her armor was partially obscured under a layer of dirt and grime and her boots treaded heavily on the grass, weighted with fatigue.

"You alright, soldier?" Shepard asked, taking in the soiled state of the other female's armor and the circles under her eyes.

The solider nodded. "I'm fine, though I'm not sure that would be the case if you two hadn't shown up just now," she responded, gesturing toward the now-defunct creatures with a tilt of her head. "Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, of the 212th," she continued by way of introduction, rendering a shaky salute.

Shepard returned the salute. "What's going on here, Williams?"

Williams began to pace. "My squad was assigned here a few weeks ago to secure the dig site once the beacon was uncovered. A bunch of construction workers had stumbled upon the ruins and the beacon on accident while digging and, as soon as word got out, scientists from all over were coming here to study it. Our mission was to keep the order. We were attacked a few days ago while we were patrolling the perimeter. Those things…the geth….they came out of nowhere, cutting off all our communications. We tried to double back to the beacon to regroup with another squad but then we were ambushed!" She spoke quickly and breathlessly. It was clear she was still shaken up by recent events.

"And the rest of your squad?" asked Alenko, prodding gently.

She stopped, shaking her head and shrugging as she answered. "I'm the only one left, sir. Since the ambush, I've been on the run. They've been hunting me down."

Alenko grimaced. "We're sorry to hear that."

There was a brief moment of respectful silence before Shepard turned the conversation back to the motionless bodies lying at their feet. "So, geth? From my understanding, they disappeared behind the Perseus Veil over 200 years ago. What are they after?"

It was a rhetorical question, really. Undoubtedly they were here for the same reason her squad was here, and for the same reason Williams' unit had been here before – the Prothean beacon. But the bigger picture remained unclear. The geth, a synthetic race of networked artificial intelligence, had not been seen in the modern galaxy for over 200 years. They had rebelled against their creators, the quarians, and then retreated beyond the Veil where they had remained silent and elusive. If the beacon contained information important enough to draw out the geth, it must be something big.

Williams pointed toward a nearby ridge. "The dig site is just over there. That's where you'll find them."

"Then that's where we're headed," directed Shepard, placing a fresh heat sink in her assault rifle and starting toward the ridgeline. She only heard one set of footsteps following her. After a few paces, she turned back to see Williams, still standing in the same spot and looking longingly at her and Alenko's retreating forms. "Williams!" called Shepard, waving her over, "Get over here!"

Williams trotted over toward them, looking hopefully at Shepard. "Yes, ma'am?"

"If you think I'm going to let you sit this round out after seeing how good of a shot you are, then you are sorely mistaken," said Shepard. Williams grinned, falling back to cover the rear with Alenko. Shepard smiled to herself under her helmet at the look of pure relief on the other woman's face.

The lighthearted moment quickly turned somber as they passed the spiked device. Thick rivulets of blood continued to trickle down the spike to its base. The device itself was a dark metallic material that emitted a blue glow from the small fissures in its surface. Shepard could not identify any sort of control panel that seemed to operate it. She turned to Williams. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Not much," she said, looking up and grimacing at the sight of the colonist hovering fifteen feet above them. "Only that they have a lot of them around here. And they only use them with living victims…"

Shepard walked slowly around the device and looked at Alenko. "Thoughts?"

He shrugged. "A scare tactic? Leave the bodies of the rebellious colonists up as a deterrent to the rest?"

Shepard nodded, motioning them to continue on. "Definitely a possibility," she agreed. As Williams had mentioned, they passed several more of the devices as they continued over the ridge and down into the valley toward the dig site. Most had bodies in varying states of decay on them. Some were empty, presumably waiting for their next victims.

They reached the dig site in good time and with suspiciously little interference from the geth. The enemy's light defenses began to make sense as they came upon the ruins, however. A stone pedestal rose from the center of a dais, surrounded by archaeological lighting and equipment. The pedestal itself was empty.

"The beacon was right here before."Williams indicated the empty pedestal. "It's been moved by someone…or something."

"I would put my credits on the 'something,'" muttered Shepard, glancing around the area for any possible clues to the beacon's new whereabouts or to who might have moved it. Nothing.

"The research camp is right up the other side of the valley, on top of the hill. Maybe we'll know more if we check it out," offered Williams, guiding the group to a path that led up the side of the valley.

* * *

The research camp had been hit hard. Shepard didn't have to reach the top of the hill to know that. She could tell simply by the smell of burnt metal and the thickness of smoke in the air. Regardless, the sight still surprised her. Active fires continued to burn throughout the camp and stray ashes tossed around by the wind burned her throat when she breathed. She coughed involuntarily as Nihlus came through with another status update. He had located some sort of spaceport and wanted to meet her there. "Roger that," she choked out, eyes watering in the hazy air.

Movement in the sky caught her eye. Her squadmates noticed it as well. Three more spikes, their pointed tips obscured by smoke, were retracting back into their bases. And on them were the human remains of the colonists. Except, they weren't human anymore. Their skin, now blackened and partially rotted by the sun, had fallen off in places to reveal white patches of bone underneath. A blue glow, the same blue glow emitted from the spikes themselves, now emanated from the beneath the missing skin. Their bodies seemed to be held together by some sort of black synthetic webbing. It was a harrowing sight, and even Shepard, seasoned combat veteran as she was, knew that she wouldn't be sleeping well tonight.

As the spikes finished retracting and the bodies reached the ground, there was a burst of blue light – and the bodies began to reanimate. They milled about in confusion momentarily and then spotted the squad, running toward them disjointedly, mouths gaping in silent screams.

Shepard was the first to recover, yanking her assault rifle from its cradle on her back and firing into the group. She could see her rounds impacting but it seemed to barely even slow their advance. They were close now. She could see the holes where their eyes had been, now pockets of eerie blue light. Swearing, she reached for her heavy pistol and leveled a headshot at the nearest one. It was only ten feet away now. She squeezed the trigger and was rewarded with a satisfying thud as the body crumpled in front of her. She turned in time to see Williams dispatch the final body in the same manner with her shotgun.

Alenko, looking visibly shaken, gave the mangled bodies a wide berth as they continued into the camp. "I guess we know what those spikes are for now. Turning our own people against us. And into those…..things," he spat in disgust.

"Husks," corrected Williams quietly. "They take away all the humanity and replace it with that blue energy. What's left is just an empty husk."

In silence, the trio inspected the remaining structures in the camp. The camp was comprised of four rectangular sheds arranged in a roughly semi-circular pattern. Excavation equipment and stacks of machinery scattered the inner perimeter. Of the four sheds, only one appeared to be stable enough to be safe to enter. It was locked with an encryption code. Shepard stepped aside as Alenko used his omni-tool to hack the lock and gain entrance.

The door opened with a hiss and they were greeted by two frightened humans, who ushered the squad in urgently and rapidly sealed the door behind them. They were scientists, by the look of their uniforms. Each wore the insignia X-05 on the shoulder of their coats, indicating their status as part of a research and development unit. A tall woman with cropped auburn hair addressed them. "Thank god you're human." The other scientist, a male, fidgeted behind her, muttering nervously under his breath.

"Dr. Warren?" questioned Williams, stepping forward.

"Ashley!" replied the scientist as recognition set in, a warm smile ghosting across her tight lips.

Williams turned to Shepard in explanation. "Dr. Warren is the head archaeologist here. Her team was in charge of the main excavation of the beacon. My squad often interacted with them between patrols."

Dr. Warren nodded, extending her hand to Shepard and then to Alenko. "I'm glad to see you're still alive, Ashley."

Shepard's gaze danced around the shed. It was small and cramped, but the scientists had at least had the foresight to stock it with basic provisions. Pre-packaged food and cases of purified water were arranged on pallets in the corner, along with basic medicine supplies. Two makeshift cots had been set up along the wall. Clearly, they were prepared to stay here a few days if need be. Her attention refocused on the female scientist. "Doctor, what happened here?"

"I'm not really sure," answered Dr. Warren, a puzzled expression on her face. "They attacked so suddenly, without any warning. I don't know where they came from." She rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully. "They must have come for the beacon. Luckily, it wasn't here. We moved it to the spaceport for transport just this morning, along with most of my research team. Dr. Manuel and I were only here to pack up some of the remaining equipment before heading out there ourselves when the attack hit. We've been hiding here ever since."

The male scientist, presumably Dr. Manuel, perked up at the mention of this name. "We have unearthed the darkness and summoned the beast," he spouted urgently, eyes darting between them. "The eve of our extinction is upon us!"

Shepard raised a curious eyebrow toward Dr. Warren.

"You'll have to excuse Dr. Manuel. He is a brilliant scientist, but…unstable. The attack has made him more anxious than usual," explained Dr. Warren.

Shepard appraised him warily for a long moment before turning back to Dr. Warren. "The beacon – what do you know about it? Do you know what it does?"

Dr. Warren's eyes lit up at the mention of the beacon. It wasn't every day that one had the opportunity to be the first to study a piece of alien technology, and one of Prothean design no less. "It's spectacular! It's some sort of data module for a long-range communications network and perfectly preserved. Judging from its design, we anticipate that it holds massive amounts of information, though we have been unsuccessful in recovering the data so far. Who knows what could be inside? It could be the scientific breakthrough of the century!"

Her passion for her work laced each word, but unfortunately, it was nothing Shepard hadn't already known, and nothing to give them an idea of the geth's motivations.

"Thank you, Dr. Warren. We'll radio a shuttle to come pick you both up. Until then, stay here and lay low," instructed Shepard. Then, turning to her squad, "Move out. Let's see if we can find our turian friend."

They were already exiting the shed when Dr. Manuel's frantic ramblings permeated through the heavy outside silence. "Wait, wait! I saw him!" he cried desperately. "The prophet. The leader of the enemy. He was here before the attack." Shepard turned back to him with interest. Through the haze of confusion and sedatives, Shepard thought she could see a spark of lucidity in his eyes.

But Nihlus had been on the Normandy the whole time before the attack, so he had to have been mistaken. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, attempting to sound sincere. He dropped his gaze in defeat, becoming silent once more. She didn't believe him, and he knew it. She grimaced inwardly at her failure to be more convincing.

Williams took point as she led the way to the spaceport. There, they would rendezvous with Nihlus and formulate a plan to secure the beacon. Undoubtedly, the geth were already there in force. It was going to take some resourceful thinking on the part of herself and the Spectre to overrun the geth if they had already established a foothold.

A bend in the path revealed the location of the spaceport, and with it, their enemy's greatest asset. Hovering in the air above the spaceport, the hulking behemoth of a massive spacecraft cast an ominous shadow across the valley. Shepard recognized the spindle-like legs from the distress transmission she had seen on the Normandy. Now, the entirety of the ship was visible – and it was bigger than she could have even imagined. The legs were attached to an elongated oval body that tapered into a point at its apex, reminiscent of the giant squids that lived in the oceans back on Earth. Red tendrils of lightning danced around its frame. They would need an entire fleet to take down a ship that size.

The trio watched breathlessly as the ship began to ascend into the clouds. It appeared to be leaving the planet. Shepard gritted her teeth in frustration. If they were pulling back, it was a good indicator that they had already found what they were looking for. That meant that they had beaten her squad to the beacon, and assuming they had taken it with them, then she had failed the mission. Potentially life-altering information would be lost. Corporal Jenkins' death would be meaningless.

Renewed determination coursed through her. They needed to reach that spaceport, and fast.


	4. Chapter 3 - Eden Prime: Part 2

Chapter 3

Eden Prime: Part 2

Shepard jogged lightly down the slope toward the spaceport, Alenko and Williams close behind. As the metal edges of the spaceport garage came into view, she slowed her pace, holding up her left hand, palm forward, in silent communication to her squad to be alert and use caution. Her nonverbal warning was issued not a moment too soon as heavy, uneven footfalls pounded clumsily toward them up the metal walkway connecting the trail to the garage entrance.

More husks – this time supplemented by a small detachment of geth troopers firing from behind the cover of upturned crates littering the walkway below. Shepard and her squad manipulated their high ground advantage to its fullest, leaving the geth to join the colonists of Eden Prime in death.

In the silence that followed, a small group of colonists emerged from one of the surrounding sheds. The hope brought on by the brief firefight that somebody else was out there alive and fighting the enemy appeared to have coaxed them out of hiding. "Williams, go see if they have any useful information for us," Shepard ordered. "Alenko and I will head to the garage and start clearing it." They needed to keep up the pace of their advance if they were going to find the beacon…assuming it was even still there. Shepard set her jaw, refusing to consider the possibility.

Shepard pushed forward to check the bodies of the geth troopers, kicking away their weapons and searching for any signs of lingering life. Granted, she wasn't really sure what she was looking for. Geth biology, for lack of a better word, was foreign to her. Whatever their equivalent of a pulse was, she wanted to make sure it had been thoroughly extinguished. When she got back to the Normandy, she vowed, she would spend ample time doing thorough research on this new threat.

Until then, she would just have to settle with putting an extra bullet through their heads.

Alenko whipped around sharply at the sound of two single-shot slugs being pumped into the synthetic carcasses. He caught Shepard's eye, his gaze cool, and more than a little disapproving.

"Unless you know how to check for a pulse…," she quipped, shrugging nonchalantly as she inserted a new heat sink into her rifle.

Pacified, he shook his head. "No, I suppose not," he confirmed grudgingly, following Shepard up the steps to the loading dock of the garage. Then, with urgency in his voice, "Commander, it's Nihlus."

Sure enough, Alenko's keen eyes had spotted a taloned foot encased in black and red armor protruding from behind a crate. As they approached, it was no doubt the Spectre they had been seeking. The white tribal markings stood out stark against his red-hued skin and his formerly piercing blue eyes were dull, staring unseeing at the sky.

Shepard knelt down, closing his eyes gently with a gloved hand. "Ah, Nihlus," she reflected quietly, "Just when I was starting to like you." It was true. Ever since Anderson had put her suspicions about Nihlus to rest, they had shared a growing mutual respect and she had appreciated his willingness to accompany her on a mission so full of uncertainty. Now there was more uncertainty to add to the list, Shepard thought, noting the single entry wound in his back. Probably not a common cause of death for a highly-trained Spectre. She couldn't imagine that Nihlus had many people sneak up on him and live to tell the tale.

"Your turian friend, I presume?" Williams inquired somberly, approaching the pair from behind.

"Nihlus, a council Spectre. Single shot in the back," Shepard answered, rising from her crouched position. Her eyes lingered on the turian a moment longer, her expression dark. "Find out anything useful from the colonists?"

Williams shook her head. "Not really, ma'am. Same story as everyone else, though they did mention hearing some sort of piercing noise before the ship landed. They said it seemed to be coming from within their own heads, whatever that means," she shrugged. "But it wasn't a total loss. They gave me this," she continued, holding out a red Stinger II heavy pistol for them to see. It looked brand new, and was certainly a step up from the Alliance-issued Kesslers. "Take it, Commander."

Shepard made no move to grab the proffered pistol. It was a tempting bounty, but it was Williams' own rapport from her time here among the colonists that had netted the reward. "I appreciate the thought, but you did all the heavy lifting. Keep it, you deserve it," she commended, and then, as an afterthought, "If you don't think you'll use it all that much, then give it to Alenko. Heavy pistols are his thing."

Williams acknowledged the Commander's praise with a gracious smile, handing the weapon without hesitation to a surprised Alenko. He accepted it gratefully. Only a few hours into their first mission together and Shepard already knew his combat tendencies. He couldn't deny that he was impressed.

Alenko had just armed the new pistol when Williams' sharp voice rang out. "Commander, we've got movement! There, behind the crates."

In a flash, three fully primed weapons were trained on a huddled figure, frozen in fear within the shadows. "Hands where I can see them!" barked Shepard, her sights lined up just below his collarbone. The safety was off and her finger hovered lightly outside the trigger well.

The figure stood up, hands raised above his head as directed. He was human, dressed in a pair of worn tan coveralls. A faded stocking cap covered his balding head. "Don't shoot," he cried, "I'm one of you! I'm human. I work here on the docks"

"What are you doing sneaking around back there? It's a good way to get killed," she chided, relaxing her posture slightly, but keeping her weapon leveled at him.

"I was hiding from those creatures," he explained. His eyes flitted from Shepard's hardened face to her weapon nervously. "If you put that down, I can tell you what happened to the turian. I saw the whole thing…"

A fair deal. Shepard lowered her weapon, indicating for Alenko and Williams to do the same. "Alright. Now talk. Tell us what happened."

The dockworker sighed in relief, relaxing considerably. "It wasn't those creatures. They were already gone when your turian got here," he began. "There was another turian here already when yours arrived. He called him Saren. They acted like they knew each other, and your friend seemed to trust him. He let his guard down….and then Saren killed him. Shot him right in the back!"

Shepard furrowed her brow, trying to recall if she had ever heard the name Saren in any of her discussions with Nihlus or briefings with Captain Anderson. Nothing came to mind. Except, perhaps, the eccentric babblings of Dr. Manuel. He had claimed to have seen a turian before the attack. _'A prophet. Leader of the enemy,'_ he had said. He had to have meant Saren. It appeared that Dr. Manuel wasn't quite as mad as it would seem. "And what happened to this Saren, afterwards?" she prodded, turning her attention back to the dockworker.

The dockworker pointed toward the opposite end of the garage. "He took the cargo train, probably to the other platform. There's some sort of alien technology that was moved there this morning. That's got to be what they're after, right? I mean, we're just a farming colony!"

It was the information they needed to resume the beacon's trail and they wasted no time heading toward the cargo train. "Link up with the other colonists up the hill," Shepard instructed the dockworker, who seemed frightened at the sudden prospect of being left alone again. "A shuttle will pick you all up shortly and take you someplace safe." Alenko was already sending the evac requisition request on his omni-tool as the squad reached the ramp to the train platform.

* * *

A contingent of geth greeted them with a spray of fire as they reached the lower platform level. Shepard immediately ducked into cover as Alenko unleashed a wave of biotic power that ripped the closest geth off its feet and sent it spinning over the platform guardrail. His water-cooler reputation was true after all; he had trained and honed his biotic abilities into a deadly force, unmatched in precision and power by any other Alliance soldier Shepard had seen before. Williams, on the other hand, wasn't fairing as well. She had taken an unlucky direct hit in the initial volley that had decimated her shields completely. The smear of red glittering against her armor's white background just under her right shoulder indicated that it wasn't the only hit she had taken. Rendered useless while her shields were regenerating, she was currently leaning back against one of the crates, applying a generous dose of medi-gel to the wound. "Just a scratch, Commander," she yelled as Shepard hollered for a status report from the other side of the platform. The medi-gel was already beginning to take effect, staunching the flow of blood as the clotting agent activated.

Shepard released another burst of fire from her assault rifle, covering Alenko as he moved up to a new position. While Williams recovered, Shepard and Alenko leapfrogged forward, taking out the geth one by one with a deadly combination of biotic and weapon prowess. Williams was on her feet again by the time the area had been cleared of hostiles.

"You alright?" Shepard asked, peering at her upper arm as Williams rejoined the squad at the train's control panel.

Williams nodded confidently. "It just grazed me, really. Short of actually killing me, there's nothing the geth can do to take me out of this fight." Her brown eyes hardened, flashing with anger and single-minded determination. "They will pay for what they did to this colony. For what they did to my squad."

Shepard nodded in understanding – she knew that line well. Vengeance was a concept she had become intimately acquainted with after Akuze. Her whole platoon had been wiped out, attacked in the night by several thresher maws. She alone survived. It was the longest night of her life, slipping in and out of consciousness with only the mangled bodies of her fellow soldiers to keep her company. She had recovered for two weeks in an Alliance hospital bed on a nearby colony. While others expressed pity and sadness, she felt only anger. It was a fire that consumed her both in waking and sleeping hours. She imagined herself hunting down all the thresher nests on Akuze, eradicating them in the most violent ways she could conjure. When word got out about her actions during the battle, they started calling her a hero. She only wanted to be an avenger. But it was all useless fantasizing. The Alliance wasn't interested in her personal vendetta and assigned her to a new unit in a different sector. Eventually, news came down that a significant earthquake had shifted the environmental conditions on Akuze. Excessive precipitation and flooding of the like never seen before in the planet's recorded history had resulted in several sightings of dead thresher maws washed up on the surface. There hadn't been a live sighting in weeks, then months. Shepard still had her craving for revenge boiling inside her, but suddenly there was nothing left to direct it at. So she buried her directionless anger, distracting herself with mission after mission, each more dangerous than the last. Eventually, the internal fire began to ebb into embers. But for Williams, her injustices were still fresh, and the responsible parties were just on the other end of the platform. Shepard would never deny her the satisfaction of evening the score.

Alenko manipulated the cargo train's controls and the car lurched forward, groaning with effort. Three pairs of eyes scanned the surrounding platforms for hidden enemies as they inched toward their destination. The receiving dock appeared deserted when they arrived. Stepping off the train, however, Shepard thought she could hear a faint beeping sound coming from behind a stack of cargo crates. _Yes_ , _getting warmer,_ she thought as she approached cautiously.

Lying at her feet, emitting a soft beeping sound, was a large box of explosives. Crude wiring snaked from the bomb's outer casing into the detonator on top. The display currently read 3:52. Another beep pulsed as the counter flipped to 3:51.

Shepard backpedaled instinctively, searching for Alenko. He was at her side in an instant, assessing the detonator with a trained eye. "I can disarm it, Commander," he acknowledged confidently. "No problem."

"Sure you can. Biotic, decryption analyst, bomb technician…," she smirked at him good-naturedly. "What can't you do, Alenko?"

Alenko laughed, practiced fingers sifting through the bundle of wires for the right one. "Well, I'm a terrible poker player," he admitted, still grinning as he glanced up at her.

"Good to know…," she replied smoothly, arching an eyebrow. Somehow, she didn't doubt that. She hadn't know him long, but so far, he'd worn every thought and emotion so clearly on his face that the mere idea of him trying to sell a bluff seemed as doomed to fail as if she had tried to disarm the bomb herself.

 _3:23, 3:22, 3:21._ The screen went blank and Alenko wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, standing up. "Done!" he exclaimed, pride lacing his words.

"Not so fast, sir." Williams, who had been pulling security watch on the platform as they worked, indicated another stack of crates across the platform with her good arm. A smaller box was wedged between the crates, the unmistakable silhouette of wires jutting out of the side. "Looks like we've got another."

Alenko's face fell. "Where there are two, there could be three. Or more," he cautioned them gravely.

"And time is not on our side," added Shepard. "Let's move."

At Shepard's command, the trio began to move toward the second bomb. They were almost upon it when the distinctive sound of gunfire rang out. "Concentrate on the bomb, Alenko," Shepard yelled as she pivoted to face the advancing geth troopers. "We'll cover you!"

He worked quickly, his fingers only shaking slightly with the added distraction of rounds whizzing over his head. The timer read _1:57_ before it blinked out as Alenko disconnected the ignition wire. In the meantime, Shepard had already spotted two more boxes in the vicinity. The four devices in total seemed to form a square around the train platform. She hoped that meant that was all of them. No doubt they had been set by somebody who wanted to erase the evidence of their presence, and ensure there was no trail to follow.

Williams cleared a path for Alenko to the next device as Shepard made her way toward the fourth, intent on securing the area ahead of him to save time. With their hardened synthetic skin, the geth lacked the speed and agility of an organic and Shepard was able to quickly overcome the defenses of the two directly in her path using her natural quick reflexes to her advantage. She reached the final bomb at the same time she saw Alenko and Williams reach the third. The detonator now read _1:17_. The precious seconds slipped away as she monitored Alenko's progress in earnest. _0:44_ and he was finishing up, it appeared. He and Williams started to make their way toward her, only to dive back behind cover as a rocket narrowly passed over their heads. Shepard didn't have a clear shot at the aggressor from her angle, and neither Williams nor Alenko were able to pop out of cover long enough to place any well aimed shots as the geth rocket trooper continued to rain down a deadly mix of gunfire and rocket grenades on their position.

"Commander, we're pinned down," came Williams' breathless voice over the helmet-to-helmet comm. "And the Lieutenant took a nice chunk of debris to the back of the head. He's okay, but he's pretty groggy." Shepard glanced at the timer. _0:32._

"Damn it!" Shepard swore in frustration. They were down one bomb technician and luck now offered them the only chance they had left. She grimaced, removing her gloves and kneeling over the device. She wasn't feeling particularly lucky today. "Alright, you two stay put and, well…..pray, I guess" she sighed.

The timer beeped ominously, now reading _0:26_. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw in concentration, drawing on the memory of watching Alenko disarm the first device. He had reached under the first bundle of wires, she recalled, and then pulled out the blue wire below. Or was it green? She opened her eyes and stared at her fingers, which now held multiple wires of differing colors – blue and green included. _Oh for fuck's sake,_ she muttered under her breath. The incessant beeping pulsed on. _0:12, 0:11…._ Wait, it was the blue one. Yes, because she had noticed how it had blended in with metallic blue casing on the box when Alenko had held it. She grabbed the blue wire tightly. There was no time to second guess it now, anyway. She yanked, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation for the blast that would surely kill her if she had guessed wrong.

But the blast never came. Instead, just another beep. _0:04._ And another. _0:03._ Wait, what?

Her eyes snapped open and without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the green wire, yanking it out of the detonator. The screen flashed for a moment and then went black. Shepard was sure her heart was going to beat a hole in her chest as her body flooded with relief. She didn't trust herself to stand up just yet, her legs felt so rubbery.

Williams approached a still-kneeling Shepard, supporting a starry-eyed but still functional Alenko. He had recovered enough to assist Williams in finally gaining the upper hand on the geth rocket trooper as it was reloading. "Good job remembering the green wire, Commander," Alenko congratulated, gingerly rubbing the lump now forming on the back of his head.

She knew his words were sincere, but she swore she could have punched him. "Yeah, the green one…" she trailed off flatly.

Probably no need to tell them that they had only been three seconds away from death.

Shepard stood up stiffly as the last remnants of adrenaline dissipated into the air. In its absence, the heavy cloak of exhaustion began to settle on her shoulders. Jenkins' death seemed like weeks ago, when in reality, it had only been a few hours. Surely they must be getting close. If the beacon wasn't here, the trail would go cold. The trio resumed the search as the Eden Prime sun began to dip below the horizon.

* * *

It was, in fact, much closer than they realized. A simple descent down another ramp and there it was, resting unguarded on the main spaceport docking platform. The Prothean beacon. It resembled a church steeple, standing on a wider base and then tapering at the top to a height of about twelve feet. It radiated a soft green glow that refracted off the swirling dust and ash still floating in the air. It created the illusion of shimmering liquid, as if water was rippling along the smooth surface of the spire. Definitely alien.

"This is it," whispered Williams reverently, "although it looked nothing like this at the dig site." She tilted her head curiously, but kept her distance. "The green light, it wasn't like that before. Something must have activated it."

Shepard stepped away, letting out a prolonged sigh of relief as she connected to the Normandy's communication channel through her omni-tool. The beacon was still here and, by the look of things, still functional. Her team may not have prevented the geth from getting there first, but the beacon could at least shed some light on what the geth had been after, and possibly how this Saren character was involved. When Joker answered her hail, she transmitted the coordinates of the beacon, verifying that the site was secure and requesting a pickup.

"This is incredible," breathed Alenko, stepping toward the device to inspect it further.

At his approach, a distinctive hum resounded from the device, vibrating green shock waves fanning out from the spire as the glow brightened fiercely. "Sir!" Williams' concerned voice rang out.

Shepard whipped around to see Alenko nearing the device, but not under his own power. He was resisting strongly but the spire was pulling him in like a magnet. His combat boots screeched as they slid across the platform.

"Alenko!" She was moving toward him in a flash. _Oh no,_ she resolved as she raced toward him, _I am not losing BOTH my squadmates today._

The beacon had just begun to pull him off his feet when he felt a pair of armored arms roughly encircle his waist. Shepard tackled him with the full force of a charging linebacker, the impact of the collision knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him bouncing across the metal flooring before sliding to a stop at Williams' feet. He was now clear of the beacon's magnetic force, he saw, but Shepard hadn't had enough momentum to break free herself. The field was pulling her in, just as it had done to him. He scrambled to his feet, but Williams restrained him. "Sir, no, it's too dangerous! You'll just get stuck again," she reasoned in his ear. He cursed the probable truthfulness of her words, and grudgingly remained out of the beam's reach, trembling with apprehension and frustration.

Shepard felt her body become weightless under the influence of the beacon's power. She was vaguely aware that her feet were no longer in contact with the platform's surface, but she couldn't quite formulate the notion of concern. Her mind felt disembodied from her physical being, her thoughts hazy and confused, as if drugged. And then came the pain, sudden and paralyzing, as if somebody was raking sharp fingernails through her brain. Askew images paraded before her, vivid snippets of war, fire and death featuring creatures she had never seen before, but too quick to fully comprehend. And the sounds were there too, like the high pitched wails of a legion, a constant cacophony of horrors in the background. It was all too fast, too loud, too much. Her mind was on fire, and it would surely consume her.

And then, as if the power had been suddenly cut, the beacon released her. Black stars exploded behind her eyes. Her body, no longer held up by the device's force field, crumpled to the ground in a heap.

She was out cold before her feet even touched the platform.


	5. Chapter 4 - A New Mission

_Author's Notes: A little delay on getting this chapter up. Work has been busier than usual this week. Not as much action in this chapter as previous ones, but don't worry, we'll get there soon!_

* * *

Chapter 4

A New Mission

The first thing that registered was the smell. It was familiar somehow, and trying to place it gave her something to latch on to as she attempted to claw her way out of the murky confines of her mind. Next came the muffled voices. The arduous climb back to consciousness always seemed so endless. With a final push of effort, Shepard opened her eyes. The bright light was nearly blinding and she blinked several times, trying to get her bearings. Now the word she had been searching for came unbidden to her. Antiseptic – that was the odor she had recognized. She was in a hospital.

"Dr. Chakwas, I think she's waking up," announced a deep voice near her head. She slid open one eye in the harsh light, squinting at the speaker. Brown eyes stared down at her with concern. It was Alenko, she registered, as the blurry edges of her vision began to clear.

She sat up slowly as the doctor approached, massaging her temples. Her head felt ten times its normal weight and she could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat in her ears.

"Well, well, Shepard. You gave us quite the scare," trilled Dr. Chakwas in her thick English accent. She was an older woman in her mid-50s, her short silver hair attesting to her significant experience in the medical profession. Like Shepard herself, Dr. Chakwas had been specifically requested by Captain Anderson based on her stellar service record and unmatched expertise. The Normandy crew was lucky to have her as their personal on-board doctor. She was already fiddling with her omni-tool, taking readings of Shepard's vital signs. "How are you feeling?"

"A little throbbing, but I'm okay," she answered, making a valiant effort to ignore the stabbing pain behind her eyes. Dr. Chakwas eyed Shepard skeptically, pressing her lips into a thin line as she cupped her patient's chin and shined a small pinpoint flashlight into each eye. Shepard flinched away as the light sent a shock of searing pain into her temples, holding her hands up in surrender. "Alright, fine. I feel like the morning after shore leave," she admitted, letting her head fall unceremoniously into her hands. "How long was I out?"

"About fifteen hours," answered Chakwas automatically, flipping through Shepard's medical chart. Shepard lifted her head, eyes widening in surprise. She must have hit her head harder than she thought when she hit the platform.

"Something went wrong with the beacon," Alenko broke in from beside the doctor. "It exploded while you were suspended. An overload, maybe? That's when it released you." He hesitated, looking away and moistening his lips nervously before continuing. "It's my fault, Shepard. I must have triggered some sort of security field when I got too close," he forced out all in one breath. His face was lined with guilt.

Shepard started to shake her head, but abandoned the effort when another flash of pain stabbed at the back of her head. "Nobody knew that was going to happen," she said through gritted teeth as the pain subsided. "It's nobody's fault, so don't blame yourself."

He offered her a small smile of relief, only betraying a fraction of the solace he actually felt at her words. He had been reckless to approach an alien device like it was just some metal post in the ground. Because of him, she had to intervene, putting her life in danger for his mistake. She could have lashed out in anger, written him a negative evaluation in his service record or reported his incompetency to Captain Anderson – all of which would have been justified. But instead, she just wrote it off as part of her sworn duty to protect the soldiers under her command to the best of her ability. He would owe her one for that, and intended to pay her back in full.

"So what's the damage, Doc?" Shepard asked, trying to push the conversation forward. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a nap in her own bed.

Chakwas set down the chart, directing her gaze to Shepard. "Physically, except for some minor bumps and bruises and that nasty headache of yours, you're fine…," she trailed off.

Shepard waited for the other foot to drop. "But…"

"But…I've noticed some irregular brain activity, beta waves mostly. They've been more active. Additionally, an increase in the normal threshold for REM during non-waking hours. Typically, these are signs of intense dreaming, but your readings are much higher than usual."

Shepard had been hoping to avoid this conversation altogether, at least until she could sort through her own thoughts. The images she had seen were still a jumble of terror in her mind, and she needed time to process it all before she could have a clear and concise discussion about what, if anything, the beacon had revealed to her. Plus, it was still so fresh. Reliving it right now wasn't the most pleasant of prospects.

Dr. Chakwas and Alenko looked at her expectantly.

She sighed in resignation, averting her gaze as she conjured up the images in her mind. The memories came forward almost willingly. She could hear the voices again, some whispering, some screaming. It was almost like she was trapped in the force field of the beacon again. She struggled to clear her mind again, pushing back the overflow of images. "I saw…well, I'm not sure what I saw exactly," she admitted honestly. "It's just a lot of disconnected pictures. Destruction. Death…"

"Like a vision," supplied Chakwas.

"Or a nightmare," added Alenko gruffly. He had seen the shadow that crossed her face as she fought an internal battle against her own memories.

The med-bay door hissed quietly, announcing the entrance of a new visitor. Captain Anderson made his way toward them, waving his hand in dismissal as the three junior officers started to jump to attention. "Shepard," he boomed. "I'm glad to see you're awake!" A fleeting smile of genuine relief crossed his lips as he acknowledged her. "Doctor, I assume there are no major lingering issues I need to know about?"

Dr. Chakwas shook her head. "She should still take it easy for another day or so and get some rest, but it looks like the Commander will be just fine."

"Excellent job as usual, Doctor," he commended. "Now, if you both don't mind," he said, eyes bouncing between the doctor and Alenko, "I need to speak with Shepard alone for a moment."

Without hesitation, Dr. Chakwas and Alenko departed the med-bay, leaving the Normandy's commanding officer and executive officer alone.

"By the sound of things, that beacon roughed you up pretty good," Captain Anderson stated taking note of her drawn features and pale skin. Despite regular status reports from Dr. Chakwas, he had made several trips to the med-bay himself in the past fifteen hours and, while she certainly looked improved, it was clear the effects of her ordeal hadn't completely worn off yet. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Shepard nodded slowly, taking care to not jostle her head too much this time. While she had no doubt his concern was genuine, she knew he wasn't here just to check on her wellbeing. By now, Captain Anderson would have received a full briefing from Alenko detailing the events of the mission, meaning he already knew about the presence of the geth and about Nihlus and Saren. It also meant he already knew about Jenkins, a valued member of the crew killed while under her command. In the presence of her commanding officer, the responsibility weighed heavy on her chest.

"I'm fine," she answered somberly, averting her eyes to the polished toes of her combat boots, "but not everybody that went down there can say the same."

Anderson studied Shepard silently. Casualties, while certainly regrettable, were a consequence of the job that his field officers did every day. His job was to make sure that his officers remembered that. If they didn't, if they instead mentally attributed the losses as a failure of their own leadership ability, their confidence on the battlefield inevitably suffered. He had seen many a good officer become so paralyzed with self-doubt that they were no longer capable of making the necessary decisions. Shepard had too much potential for him to allow her to fall into that trap.

"Yes, Nihlus and Jenkins," Anderson acknowledged, an edge of compassion in his normally gruff voice. "Losing people is always hard. It never gets any easier. But Shepard…" he paused pointedly until she lifted her gaze to meet his, "we can only control so much on the battlefield. You do all you can, and then you accept the results."

"Yes, sir," she conceded grimly. The reality of combat had always been and would forever be this way, but still, his words did provide a level of comfort and prospective. She cleared her throat, anxious to move the conversation to a new, less poignant topic. "You wanted to speak with me about something?"

"Yes, about our next step," Anderson began, the role of mentor relinquished and quickly replaced by the succinct professionalism of a ship's captain. "With everything that happened on Eden Prime – the reemergence of the geth, the apparent murder of a Spectre, the destruction of the beacon – the Council is understandably concerned. They want answers from us. From you."

Shepard bristled, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. She had never dealt with the Council directly, but she knew their reputation. Egocentric, dismissive, noncommittal. A politician was just that, no matter if they were human, turian, asari or salarian. "I have nothing to hide. Details of the entire mission will be in my full report," she responded flatly.

"And I will fully support anything you put in your report," assured Anderson adamantly, "but that might not be enough for the Council." He began to pace slowly, collecting his thoughts. "This Saren character, he's a Spectre too, and a living legend at that. Accusing Saren of not only murdering a fellow Spectre, but of collaborating with the geth…..I don't have to tell you how serious of an allegation that is, Shepard."

The revelation of Saren's identity and status seemed to raise more questions than it answered. Shepard furrowed her brow as she digested the implications. "We know one thing for certain," she surmised, deep in thought, "that whatever was in that beacon must have been pretty damned important to him to risk his status with the Council."

"Exactly," agreed Anderson. "And we need to know what it was." He halted his pacing, turning hopefully to Shepard. "You had contact with the beacon before it exploded, making you the closest thing to an expert that we have right now. Any ideas?"

For a brief moment, Shepard considered completely disregarding the images the beacon had downloaded into her mind. They had yet to provide anything even remotely coherent, much less any useful intelligence the Alliance could utilize. But her hesitation did not go unnoticed by Captain Anderson, whose shrewd eyes caught the flicker of indecision cross her features. "Shepard…" he pressed, his voice low. She recognized the order that was implied through the simple use of her name.

"Before I lost consciousness, I had some sort of…vision," she acquiesced, cringing at how ridiculous such a thing probably sounded.

Anderson remained expressionless, urging her to continue with a curious tilt of his head. While metaphysical experiences may be cause for skepticism back on Earth, he wasn't willing to count anything out when it came to alien technology.

"It was a blur of images, not in sequence. Most of it didn't make much sense." She paused briefly, sifting through her mind for the few clear images provided by the beacon. "But I did see figures. They were slaughtering people. Butchering them," she continued darkly, as the memories surged to the surface. They pressed heavily against her still pounding head.

Anderson remained silent for a long moment, raising a weathered hand to his chin and stroking it thoughtfully. "We should report this to the Council as well," he announced finally.

Shepard's brows shot up in disbelief. "And say what? That I had a bad dream?"

"We don't know what was contained in the beacon. Any information at all could be the key to answering that question, and I'm not willing to risk withholding potentially valuable information just because we don't understand it."

While his explanation was logical, Shepard doubted the Council would see her vision as anything but a means to cast doubt on her credibility. "With all due respect, sir, I don't know if that's wise," she dissented, treading lightly. "If the Council is already skeptical about our account of what happened on Eden Prime and our allegations against Saren, throwing in a demented vision that only I witnessed could discredit the whole report. The facts already sound far-fetched enough that any shadow of doubt about my sanity could make them dismiss the whole thing as a delusion."

"We'll just have to take that chance," replied Anderson after considering her words for a moment. "Failing to be fully transparent about what happened down there could be even more detrimental."

"Sir, I…"

"Your objection is noted, Commander," interrupted Anderson, halting her with a raised palm. His stern tone made it clear that the conversation was no longer open for debate. Then, in further explanation, "If Saren has gone rogue, then he presents a serious threat – not only to the Council, but to humanity directly. He is an outspoken anti-human activist. It's in our interest to cooperate with the Council here, and do everything in our power to expose Saren before he accomplishes whatever he and the geth are planning."

"Understood, sir," agreed Shepard, resigning herself to Captain Anderson's judgment call on the matter. They would have to agree to disagree on this one, but she would obey his guidance regardless.

"We're on our way to the Citadel now. I've contacted the human ambassador to see if he can get us an audience with the Council when we arrive." All official business concluded, Anderson cuffed Shepard softly on the shoulder, offering her an encouraging smile. "Until then, try to get some rest," he advised, turning on his heel and departing the med-bay.

She nodded absently at his retreating form. Rest was a welcoming prospect, and something she was going to need if she was to meet with the ambassador and the Council soon. Politics tended to give her a headache on their own. It was probably best if she didn't already have one before they even started talking.

Gingerly, she slid herself off the edge of the hospital bed. A few initial wobbly steps and she regained her footing, relieved to find that her strength hadn't completely ebbed during her bout of unconsciousness. She couldn't quite muster the energy needed for her trademark confident stride, but her boots still resounded with authority as she exited the med-bay and traversed the Normandy's corridors toward her berth. Well wishes from passing crewmembers were met with a gracious nod.

She resisted the urge to immediately throw herself on her bunk as soon as she entered the small cabin. Instead, she headed straight for the showers, anxious to wash away the sweat and grime that had coated her skin for almost twenty-four hours. A relieved smile crossed her face as she entered the female officer's locker room to find it empty. Nobody to complain about the amount of steam and nobody to rush what she intended to be a very long shower. She peeled off her uniform and stepped into the already steaming spray, relishing the sensation of the searing water on her bare skin. Her post-mission showers had always been her place of solace. It was the only time when she could be completely alone and uninterrupted, away from the briefings, the med-bay visits and the general chaos that typically followed the completion of a mission. She used the time to gather her thoughts and to calm the ripples of adrenaline and passion still lingering from combat. Here, she could wash away the emotions, the frustration, the regrets, the bad memories, and the hard decisions and watch them spiral down the drain like the dirt from her skin. She would emerge rejuvenated and refreshed, the calm and collected leader once again.

Today was no different, and she stepped out of the water's warm embrace feeling relaxed for the first time since she had seen Nihlus standing on the bridge wanting to speak with her. Even her headache had noticeably abated. She pulled on a clean set of PTs, the golden Alliance emblem prominently visible on the navy blue backdrop of the shorts and t-shirt. She was preparing to head back to her cabin when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Steady blue eyes reflected back at her, accentuated by the color of her t-shirt, and her short blonde hair hung just shy of her collar with still-dripping bangs swept haphazardly over one eye. An elongated faded scar extended from her right cheekbone to her jawline, its smaller counterpart carving a distinctive trail through the top of her upper lip on the opposing side of her face. But it was her skin that captured her gaze. Pale, with dark circles under her eyes and clear lines of stress extending from the corners of her mouth, she hardly recognized herself. The mental strain of her experience with the beacon had clearly manifested itself physically as well. No wonder everyone in the med-bay had looked at her with such concern…

With one last calculating self-appraisal, Shepard gathered her soiled uniform and made her way back to her cabin. Sleep had quickly become her next priority and it was only moments after the cabin door hissed behind her that she was nestling under the covers, falling immediately into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 5 - Journey To The Citadel

Chapter 5

Journey To The Citadel

Shepard awoke to the sound of multiple footsteps clanging against the metal grating of the Normandy's deck. Blearily, she glanced at her wristwatch. _0453._ The crew would be in the process of the morning shift change right now, as the night watch soldiers were relieved of their posts by incoming day workers. _But do they have to be so loud,_ she complained inwardly.

Stifling a yawn, she swung her legs off the edge of her bunk and began to silently assess her condition. Her limbs still retained a bit of residual stiffness, but her headache had diminished substantially from debilitating to just merely annoying. Most impressively, she had managed to get almost six full hours of uninterrupted sleep – a rare occurrence in the life of a ship's executive officer. Dr. Chakwas would be proud.

She dressed quickly, pulling on the dark blue and gray fatigues worn by the majority of the crew. As she knelt down to lace up her combat boots, her eyes caught sight of an unfamiliar large bag wedged between the foot of her bunk and the wall. A folded sheet of paper was attached, stark white against the black fabric of the bag. Clearly, she had been completely oblivious to the bag's presence the previous night in her exhausted state. She approached the bag warily, unfolding the paper with interest.

 _Got bored waiting for you to wake up. Hope you don't mind._

– _K. Alenko_

Alenko's rough cursive was scratched in black ink inside the folds of the paper. Shepard's initial curiosity at the bag's contents was immediately sated as she opened the bag and withdrew a black helmet. The weight of the composite ceramic was familiar in her hand, and she didn't need to see the red N7 logo to know instantly that it was hers. She emptied the bag, deliberately checking each subsequent piece of armor for defects. She found none, as each piece had been meticulously cleaned and buffed. The sharp scent of fresh lubricant and lingering cleaning solvent permeated the small space of her cabin.

It was a pleasant and thoughtful surprise, and one that she was certainly grateful for. She mentally marked _'clean armor'_ off her morning to-do list and added ' _thank Alenko'_ in its place. Grabbing her datapad off her desk, she left her cabin for the mess area, intent on squeezing in a short research session on the geth over breakfast.

* * *

Her opportunity to speak with Alenko presented itself almost immediately. She spotted him at the end of the hall, head bent over his datapad and a cup of coffee his hand. The majority of the mess was empty, with the day-shift crew members already settled in to their work stations. Shepard snagged a protein bar and made her way toward him, making sure to grab her own cup of coffee as she passed the steaming pot.

"Morning, Lieutenant," she greeted, as she sat across from him.

Alenko's head snapped up at her voice, startled, so immersed was he in his datapad. He recovered quickly, nodding to her politely. "Commander. Good to see you're feeling better," he replied. She did look better, much better. Her skin had regained its natural flush and the circles around her eyes had faded.

"Yes, much," she agreed. "How's your head?"

Alenko's hand traveled up to the receding bump on the back of his skull absently. Dr. Chakwas had taken a look at it briefly after they returned from the mission and diagnosed him with a minor concussion before releasing him back to full duty.

"Just a little bump. Nothing serious," he shrugged, "though next time, I'll do my best to time my moments of incapacitation better." He flashed her a grin, remembering how lucky they'd been that Shepard was able to disarm the last bomb on Eden Prime in his absence.

Shepard nodded in earnest agreement. "Yes, please do." Her heart still raced just thinking about how close they had come to becoming part of the Eden Prime landscape that day. She shivered inwardly at the thought, shifting gears. "By the way, I wanted to thank you for taking care of my armor for me while I was recovering. I appreciate the help," she added.

"Anytime, Commander," he offered modestly, "but it wasn't just me. Chief Williams helped too."

"Williams? She's still on the Normandy?"

Alenko nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Captain Anderson assigned her to the Normandy after the post-mission briefing. She's a proven soldier with no unit to go back to, so I recommended her for the assignment. She's assigned to our squad for the time being," he explained. "I hope that's okay with you."

"Of course," Shepard agreed. She was happy to hear that Williams' bravery and skill on Eden Prime hadn't gone unnoticed. "She's a good soldier. I'm happy to have her on the team."

"Definitely. She fills the open spot on the squad," Alenko added offhandedly.

It took him only a second to recognize the underlying implication of his words that he had so flippantly voiced. He lowered his eyes, his tone dark, "I didn't mean it like that…to make it sound like Jenkins' spot was filled by a tryout or something. "

"I know," said Shepard softly. A silence hung between them as they both reflected their deceased squadmate and the mayhem that had characterized Eden Prime.

"It was rough down there," she mused after a moment.

Alenko nodded, eyes focused on his almost empty coffee cup. "Yeah, you never get used to seeing dead civilians. And what they were doing to those colonists…," he trailed off, visibly shivering at the memory of the husks. "At least we stopped Saren from wiping out the whole colony."

"Maybe. But marines still died. Colonists still died. And for what? We still didn't get that damn beacon." She tried to temper the sudden anger that boiled to the surface, but her words were still tipped with bitterness. All those lost lives and they had come away with nothing but a few nightmares. To say she felt frustrated was an understatement.

The tilt of his head and slight narrowing of his eyes as he raised them to her face were the only indications that Alenko had noticed the resentment in her voice. He understood perfectly the disappointment that stemmed from a botched mission, but in this case, none of the mission's failures could be attributed to anything but unforeseeable circumstances and plain bad luck. It was clear she didn't see it that way, however.

"I was there, Commander. There was nothing any of us could have done to prevent that," he stated adamantly. He paused briefly, then, ruefully, "but, I doubt the Council will see it that way."

Though she wasn't entirely convinced herself that there wasn't anything she could have done to change the outcome of the mission, she appreciated Alenko's steadfast confidence in the fact. His comment about the Council, however, only fed the growing concern gnawing at her. She sighed regretfully in agreement. "That's what I'm afraid of. We need the Council on our side if we want to bring down Saren."

"That's why I'm going over this," said Alenko, swiveling his datapad to face her. The official mission report for Eden Prime glared up at her from the screen. "Captain Anderson mentioned that we might be meeting with the Council, and I want to make sure that I have every detail of this mission memorized."

"Good idea," she acknowledged, rising from her seat at the table. "I'll leave you to it." She patted her own datapad as she wedged it under her arm. "I've got some of my own studying to do before we dock."

They exchanged farewells and Shepard retraced her earlier route back to her cabin, a second cup of coffee clutched in her palm. She had never been a morning person. Military life had endeavored to change that, but had never been able to succeed – at least, not without a steady flow of caffeine. She glanced quickly at her datapad's home screen as she walked, verifying the estimated arrival time at the Citadel. The auto-adjusting schedule read just over three hours from now. Just enough time to complete some final outstanding tasks, collect her armor and head to the bridge to oversee the docking procedure.

* * *

Finishing up her to-do list proved to be more difficult than she had originally anticipated. While reviewing the Eden Prime mission logs from Anderson, Alenko and Williams took minimal effort, composing her own report was a difficult and arduous task. She struggled to adequately describe what had happened to her when she was trapped by the beacon, wholly cognizant that each word she composed could easily be used to question her sanity. But, Anderson had explicitly ordered that she include the vision as part of her official report, and she respected his authority. After several revisions and rewordings, she submitted the report for Anderson's review.

Her struggles with her mission report, however, paled in comparison to that of her next task. A tradition in the military, it was the task of a soldier's immediate superior to send a letter of condolence to the family of a soldier killed in action. As the squad leader during Jenkins' last mission, the responsibility rested on her shoulders. Jenkins deserved at least that much from her, but still, she dreaded the task and wasted the first ten minutes staring at a blank paper.

Captain Anderson had informed her that his father and younger brother had survived the geth attack on Eden Prime and had also taken possession of the body. A small memorial service had been held planetside while she was lying unconscious in the med bay. Her regret at being unable to attend inspired the opening sentences as a draft of the letter began to take shape. He was an enthusiastic soldier, committed to his job. He showed unwavering courage in the face of adversity. Shepard racked her brain for something more personal, but her lack of service with him was a hindrance. He hadn't survived long enough for her to even know his first name. She sighed regretfully. The letter would have to do as it was. She scrawled her signature on the hard copy. Though paper mail had become archaic long ago, she still preferred to personally pen condolence letters. Given the destruction on Eden Prime, she was confident that she could find a supply ship headed there while on the Citadel that could deliver the message for her.

Shepard utilized the final hour before the Normandy's estimated relay jump for research. She was surprised to find that not much data existed on the geth outside of the conflict with the quarians three hundred years ago. They were synthetic AIs with a linked intelligence that enabled them to become more efficient in large numbers as they shared their collective data. The quarians had originally created them to assist with labor, but underestimated their capacity to learn. Eventually, the geth began to develop self-awareness, prompting the quarians to shut them down. The geth violently rebelled and waged a war with the quarians, eventually driving the quarians from their shared homeworld of Rannoch. The quarians had since become a nomadic race, traveling from system to system with a giant fleet of ships they coined The Flotilla.

While certainly interesting, Shepard was looking for something more pragmatic than a history lesson. Her numerous extranet searches for technical specifications, known weakness and material makeup furnished nothing substantial. She abandoned her efforts and utilized her remaining time to review the service records for her new squad. Unlike Jenkins, she would at least know _their_ first names…

* * *

The tell-tale shift in the ship's momentum as it dropped out of FTL speed alerted Shepard that they were nearing the mass relay that would take them to the Citadel. She secured her datapad in her desk and began to assemble her body armor. Perhaps they weren't traveling into a known hot zone this time around, but if Saren had already infiltrated the Council without their knowledge, she wasn't going to rely on the Citadel being safe enough to leave her armor behind. Buckling the final clasp on the inside thigh of her greaves, she pocketed Jenkins' letter in a spare thermal clip pouch on her waist and headed to the bridge, stopping briefly at the armory to obtain her typical weapons load.

"Commander Shepard!" A pair of armored boots pattered quickly to catch up to her as she inspected her assault rifle mid-stride. She turned to see Chief Williams trotting up the corridor behind her, pink and white armor distinguishing her from the other crewmembers hustling about the ship.

"Williams. Headed to the bridge?" Shepard asked, slowing to allow the other woman to catch up to her.

Williams fell in step beside her, nodding. "Yes, ma'am. I've never been to the Citadel before and I'm anxious to see it. I've heard it's enormous. Have you been before?"

Shepard shook her head as they entered the elevator. "No, never. This will be my first time too." For as much galactic importance was placed on the Citadel, not many Alliance officers had actually traveled to it. Even still, its size, design and beauty were a common topic of conversation among humans both military and civilian alike. Shepard was interested to see if the real thing could stand up to the rumor mill.

The elevator doors slid closed as Williams pressed the button for the command deck. "Commander, I'm really glad to see you're okay. After Jenkins…" she hesitated, searching for the correct words, "well, the crew needed some good news."

"He will certainly be missed. He was a valuable part of the crew," asserted Shepard. "Speaking of which, I'm glad to hear that you've been assigned to the Normandy."

Shepard was surprised to see Williams frown at her comment, averting her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest. "Thanks, Commander," she began, "but I can't help but feeling a little guilty about it. If Jenkins hadn't been killed, I wouldn't be here at all. I feel like I'm taking the place of a ghost. He was close with the crew, and I can't help but think that the only thing they see when they look at me, is a walking reminder of a dead man."

"You earned your place here, Williams. Don't question that," Shepard reassured her. "The crew just needs time to mourn. It will pass and soon you'll feel at home here." She paused for a long moment, before continuing, "Soldiers die. We all know the risks. It was just his time, as regrettable as that is."

The elevator doors edged open and the pair rounded the corner to the CIC. Williams had to lengthen her stride slightly to keep up with the taller Shepard. "Do you really believe that, ma'am?" she asked incredulously.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really believe that our lives are just left up to random chance? What about Akuze? You survived against all odds."

Shepard stopped abruptly, turning to face the younger woman. Anger flashed in her blue eyes for an instant, but dissipated so quickly that Williams doubted if she had seen it at all. Shepard took a measured breath and, when she spoke, her voice had a practiced tone of neutrality. "No amount of skill or training could have saved my unit at Akuze. It was a bloodbath. I still don't know how I made it out of there. It was luck."

Williams assessed Shepard's response with interest. She had, of course, heard of Akuze, but hadn't know that she was fighting alongside the famed sole survivor until she had arrived on the Normandy and dug up her new squad leader's service record. After Eden Prime, she could relate to Shepard's experience, albeit on a smaller scale. They had both witnessed the destruction of their entire units. Unlike Shepard, however, Williams credited her own survival to something much bigger than chance.

"With respect, ma'am," answered Williams softly, "I think you had somebody looking out for you."

Shepard's cocked an eyebrow, shrugging her shoulders casually. "That's one way of looking at it, sure," Shepard indulged her, beginning to move toward their destination again. Clearly, she wouldn't be attributing her survival to divine intervention anytime soon, Williams inwardly acknowledged as they closed in on the bridge together.

* * *

"Just in time, ladies," announced Joker over his shoulder as Shepard and Williams crossed into the cockpit. He cracked his knuckles with flourish before punching in the final adjustments and locking the Normandy onto her final approach course to the mass relay.

There was a slight jolt as the ship entered the relay and was accelerated across the galaxy, the multi-lightyear distance traveled in only a few seconds. They emerged seamlessly within the Widow System, home to the Citadel.

"This perfect jump brought to you by the Alliance Navy's most skilled, and most dashing, pilot," quipped Joker, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile.

Shepard rolled her eyes in reply before joining Williams at the bulkhead window. The gaseous atmosphere gave the intersteller cloud layer a purple hue the likes of nothing Shepard had ever seen before. Her jaw slacked in fascination as vibrant tendrils of gas deposits swirled energetically in the Normandy's wake. Ten years of traversing the depths of space with the Alliance Navy had done little to lessen the profound wonder she still felt at its deadly beauty.

"Look at the size of that ship!" exclaimed Williams.

She saw it immediately, a hulking colossus of a dreadnought hovering among the stars. And behind it, the distinctive outline of the Citadel itself, its five massive arms extending out from a circular disk like the rays of a sun.

"The Destiny Ascension, flagship of the Citadel Fleet," Alenko furnished from behind as he entered the cockpit. Shepard and Williams shifted to make room as he squeezed between them at the now-crowded window, craning his neck as he admired the massive ship above them. "They say it's four times bigger than any of our ships, and that it has just as much firepower as the entire rest of the asari fleet combined."

"Unbelievable," breathed Williams.

"Hey, Commander," broke in Joker, clearing his throat. He regarded the squad with amusement, the three seasoned soldiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they peered intently out the triangular port in the bulkhead. _Like kids outside a toy store,_ he thought. "If you guys could refrain from getting nose smudges on the glass, that'd be great…"

"Don't you have a ship to dock, Moreau?" retorted Shepard without even turning around.

Joker turned back to his console. Sure enough, he had almost missed the transmission from Alliance Tower giving the Normandy its dock assignment. The air traffic controller was already repeating the message with a hint of annoyance.

"Uh, roger, dock 422," he stammered quickly in response to the tower's hail. He stole a sheepish glance at Shepard, who was now looking at him over her shoulder with a knowing smirk. Suddenly, his flight control panel looked very interesting.

Moments later, the Normandy was slipping gracefully into her assigned dock, the cradles engaging against the bulkhead with a hollow metallic clank. Shepard, with Alenko and Williams in tow, made her way to the gangway just to the rear of the cockpit. Anderson was already waiting for them at the door.

"Ambassador Udina is waiting for us. You ready, Shepard?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, burying her dread under the obedient-soldier façade. Even so, she couldn't hold back a reluctant sigh from escaping her lips as they thread their way across the dock, certain that she would rather face an army of geth again than sit through a meeting with Udina and the Council.

It was going to be a long day.


	7. Chapter 6 - The Council's Verdict

_Author Notes: Back from vacation this week and was able to churn out a nice long chapter this go-around.  
_

 _Just a heads up - this chapter is a little more canon than I'd like, particularly as it comes to dialogue. It just so happens that most everything that occurs in this chapter is essential to the main story arc and therefore didn't give me a whole lot of wiggle room._

 _Enjoy! As always - comments, criticisms, random musings, cat gifs, etc are appreciated._

* * *

Chapter 6

The Council's Verdict

"This is going well," whispered Alenko. He ran a hand through his dark hair restlessly.

Shepard gave him a sidelong glance, smirking at his obvious sarcasm. She, along with her two squadmates, were currently leaning over the balcony railing in Ambassador Udina's office, waiting patiently for him to wrap up his virtual conference with the Council. What had started as a pleasant business meeting had quickly escalated to a full-scale argument as the Council refused to take action against the geth. Now, things were anything but 'going well.'

"This is an outrage!" Ambassador Udina exclaimed behind their turned backs. "The Council would step in if the geth attacked a turian or asari colony!"

Shepard sighed, propping her forearms on the railing and scanning the lush greenery of the Presidium below. The Citadel really was a beautiful place, even more so in person than even her imagination had conjured after hearing the rumors of its elegance. Birds warbled cheerfully in the warm artificial sunlight, flitting between the budding tree branches, while numerous varieties of exotic flowers bloomed in the meticulously maintained flowerbeds that lined the footpaths below. The tangy scent of fresh cut grass tickled her nose, conjuring long-forgotten memories of her early years on Earth. She inhaled deeply. Despite her unpleasant life back on Earth, she found the smell to be strangely comforting in its familiarity.

Behind them, the debate raged on, with the Council asserting that humanity had willingly taken on the risk of an attack by settling so near the border of the Terminus System, a system beyond the influence of Citadel space. It was typical diplomatic blithering at best. Though none of the trio could claim to be experts in galactic law, all were certain that the Earth Systems Alliance wouldn't have agreed to abide by the Council's authority in exchange for their protection if there had been a "protection services not applicable to certain planets" clause in the contract.

"And what about Saren? You can't just ignore a rogue Spectre!" continued Udina doggedly.

"C-Sec is currently investigating your claims. We will discuss their findings at the hearing, not before." The female voice of the asari Councilor indicated clearly with her tone that the conversation was over. Sure enough, the holographic images of the three Councilors blinked out as soon as she finished speaking.

"Finally…" Williams drawled, voicing the sentiments of both Shepard and Alenko. Her disdain for politics almost mirrored that of Shepard's.

Pushing herself off the balcony railing, Shepard turned to take her place by Captain Anderson's side as Ambassador Udina stalked across the room toward them. Despite his obvious foul mood, she expected an introduction, or at least some kind of acknowledgement of her presence. He offered neither, speaking directly to Anderson without any preamble.

"I see you brought half your crew with you," he grunted with pronounced annoyance. "The mission reports you sent me are accurate, aren't they?" He crossed his arms across his chest, a sour expression on his face.

Anderson raised an eyebrow at Udina's patronizing remark, but maintained his professional manner. He shot a quick warning glance at Shepard, who had stiffened noticeably at his side, before responding. "Of course. I only brought along the ground team from Eden Prime in case you had any additional questions."

For the first time, Udina's hard eyes flitted over Shepard and her squad. Shepard stood rigid in her designated spot beside Anderson, jaw clenched in irritation at Udina's disrespectful attitude toward her commanding officer. Despite her misgivings, Anderson's nonverbal order to stand down had been clear, and she remained silent.

"Sounds like you convinced the Council to give us an audience," continued Anderson.

Udina nodded curtly. "Yes, but they weren't happy about it. Accusing their top Spectre of treason didn't go over well."

Anderson looked over to Shepard with a small nod, indicating his silent permission for her to speak. She stepped confidently toward Udina, prepared to plead her case. "Saren is a threat to every human colony out there," she stated with conviction. "If the Council isn't willing to do something about it, then I will." The hard determination in her eyes left no doubt to her sincerity.

Ambassador Udina, however, wasn't impressed.

"Settle down, Commander," he snapped. "You've already done enough to jeopardize your candidacy for the Spectres! Eden Prime was a chance to prove your worth and, instead, a Spectre is dead and a valuable Prothean beacon was destroyed." He appraised her reproachfully as he shook his head. "I won't have humanity's chances for greater influence with the Council wasted because of you."

Now it was Williams' and Alenko's turn to stiffen in anger. The Ambassador's unfair indictment of their leader was not taken lightly. Williams inhaled a sharp breath while Alenko's features darkened noticeably, both subconsciously inching closer to Shepard in support.

Shepard's eyes glittered dangerously as she took another step toward him, an accusatory finger pointed at his chest. It was abundantly clear where his priorities lay, and she was not impressed. "What kind of ambassador are you that you would ignore a threat to your people in favor of a few political brownie points," she seethed.

A firm hand clapped roughly on her shoulder, pulling her away from the indignant Ambassador. She took a step back obediently, Captain Anderson's deep baritone rumbling from behind her. "Nihlus' death, the beacon's destruction – all that is Saren's fault. Not hers," he defended, addressing Udina seriously. While his voice remained even, Shepard could feel the tension in the vice-like grip he had on her shoulder. He was angry too, albeit much better than herself at concealing it.

There was a long moment of silence as Udina composed himself, looking more than a little embarrassed as the truth of both Anderson's and Shepard's words sunk in.

"Then we'd better hope the C-Sec investigation turns up evidence to support our accusations against Saren," he said finally, sighing in exasperation. "Captain, come with me. I'd like to go over a few things before the hearing."

Anderson released Shepard's shoulder, turning to follow the Ambassador who was making his way toward the door. "Shepard, I'll contact you when the hearing is about to start. Until then, enjoy the sights," he ordered as he exited the room.

* * *

Shepard glanced at her watch impatiently. Twenty minutes had passed since she had arrived, and still the door in front of her remained closed. The muffled voices of the room's occupants rose and fell rhythmically, echoing off the metal walls of the outer corridor.

As tempting a prospect as Anderson's suggestion to "enjoy the sights" had been, Shepard had instead opted to utilize the time before their appointment with the Council to conduct some preliminary intelligence-gathering. A couple conversations with the local Citadel residents had led her here, to Executor Pallin's office, head of Citadel Security, or C-Sec for short.

Udina had left her with an uneasy feeling of foreboding about the Council's leanings regarding Saren. She hadn't thought it would be easy to convince the Council of Saren's treason, but now it felt as if they had lost the battle before even entering the fight. With Executor Pallin's assistance, she had hoped she could glean some information on the status of the investigation into Saren and, if need be, provide an extra push in the right direction with her first-hand account of what had transpired on Eden Prime. After all, it would be C-Sec's findings that the Council would rely on to make their decision whether to take action.

Unfortunately for her, Executor Pallin appeared to be currently engaged in a private meeting, one that had already lasted longer than she had hoped. Her window of opportunity was slipping away. Anderson had already contacted her to warn her of the impending hearing and she was to link up with the rest of her squad only thirty minutes from now. She resisted the overwhelming urge to check her watch again, knowing only a few minutes had passed since she last looked.

Absently tucking a stray hair behind her ear, her eyes searched for something of interest to serve as a distraction. Only the bright green exo-skeleton of one of the keepers, the mysterious insectoid race that maintained the Citadel, broke up the monochromatic color scheme of the corridor. She observed it will idle curiosity as it accessed a wall panel and began to manipulate the mass of wiring inside.

It was times like these that made her miss the company of her squad mates. After Udina and Anderson's departure, she had instructed the two to enjoy some R&R as per Anderson's guidance. While it was only a short reprieve from duty while they awaited summons from the Council, they had both noticeably perked up at the suggestion. For Williams who had never been to the Citadel before, her excitement was almost tangible. Shepard couldn't bring herself to deny them some downtime in such a beautiful and intriguing place.

Now, in her boredom, she was beginning to regret sending them away. They hadn't known each other for long, but she was beginning to appreciate Alenko's easy conversation and Williams' sharp sarcasm. It certainly beat the silence. _Well, almost silence,_ she amended as the keeper removed a secondary wall panel, its multiple sets of pinchers clicking as it worked.

A sharp rush of air surged forward as the large metal door to Executor Pallin's office opened with a hiss. Shepard uncrossed her arms, pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning against as she watched a disgruntled human in a C-Sec uniform exit the office. The acrid tinge of alcohol followed in his wake and he stumbled slightly as he made his way down the corridor. She wrinkled her nose as she passed through the doorway.

Executor Pallin looked up from his computer console as she entered the office. He presented a stately figure in his maroon and navy blue suit, his powder blue turian facial markings bright against the dark hues of his clothing. In his posture was an air of prominence afforded him by his title.

"Commander Shepard," he greeted, his deep tone guarded. "I didn't expect to see you until the hearing. Did Ambassador Udina send you?"

Shepard furrowed her brow at his automatic recognition of her. It was becoming a theme here on the Citadel – both an embassy receptionist and a volus in the financial district had immediately known her identity when she spoke to them before coming to Pallin's office. It was unexpected and disconcerting to find herself famous in a place she had never been, and she was vexed by the feeling of disadvantage that came with somebody knowing all about her life with her not even knowing their name. Despite her feelings on the matter, there was nothing she could do except to begrudgingly accept her apparent notoriety and move on.

Shaking her head, she halted in front of his desk. "I came on my own," she answered. "I need information." She skipped the formalities, the time constraints requiring a more direct approach.

He huffed with indignation. "Of course you do. You humans are always so nosy. Always sticking your fingers into someone else's pie. Isn't that how the expression goes?"

Shepard couldn't help but laugh at the butchered cliché. "No, not even close," she snickered with an amused smile. "But I'll have to remember that one."

Pallin's expression remained impassive, apparently not impressed with her reaction. "You know what I mean," he responded tersely. "Forget I asked."

Shepard arched a brow at his lack of humor, quickly schooling her features back into a neutral mask. "I take it you aren't too fond of humans," she inferred. He was clearly making no attempt to hide his obvious disdain.

"No," he countered gruffly. "I just don't trust your kind. At least, not yet. You are all so hungry for power, and the Council is just giving it to you on a platter. If they want humanity to be their new favorite pet, that's their prerogative. But don't expect the rest of us to like it."

Without waiting for a response, he turned his attentions back to his console, waving at her dismissively. "I'm a busy man, Commander. Are we done here?"

Shepard sighed inwardly. This was not the direction she had intended this conversation to go. Executor Pallin was clearly not in the mood to offer up any assistance on her behalf, his negative predisposition toward humans aside. Regardless, he was still her best insight into the evidence C-Sec had gathered against Saren for the hearing, and she needed to know what she was walking into.

"Look, I think we started out on the wrong foot here," she began, softening her tone as she tried to salvage the conversation. "I'm not here on behalf of humanity or to talk galactic politics. I'm just here to talk, off the record."

He regarded her warily as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his long arms across his chest. As the head of C-Sec, he had interacted with a fair share of humans, both criminal and law-abiding. The requirements of his job had made him quiet proficient at reading their body language and facial expressions. The woman that stood before him, while certainly stubborn, appeared at least to be genuine in her intentions. That, in combination with her impressive reputation, seemed grounds enough to accept her olive branch.

He sighed in resignation. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he replied finally, forcing a reconciliatory smile. "So, what can I do for you, Commander?"

Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. Time was short, and she got straight to the point. "I know C-Sec is handling the investigation into Saren's actions on Eden Prime," she answered. "I need to know what evidence you have. I don't want to walk into that hearing blind."

"Sorry, Commander," he said automatically, shaking his head. "I can't give out details of ongoing investigations. It's against our policy."

His response wasn't surprising, and Shepard had half-expected as much. Still, his denial was disappointing. Without insight into C-Sec's findings, there was no way to gauge their odds of success with the Council.

"Then what can I do to help?" she pressed, trying another tactic. At the very least, perhaps she could provide something to add to their case against him that they didn't already have. "I've got my whole team from Eden Prime here on the Citadel," she continued. "They will give you all the first-hand witness testimony you need…"

Executor Pallin shook his head again, cutting her off with a raised palm. "We already have all the mission reports from you and your squad. There's nothing more we can obtain from all of you that we don't already have."

"If you have the mission reports, then you must know what a threat Saren is!" she exclaimed sharply, her voice brimming with frustration at being rebuffed a second time.

His sharp eyes narrowed at her unexpected outburst and he appraised her for a long moment, saying nothing.

Shepard took a step forward, placing her hands on the edge of his desk and leaning forward so that she was eye level with the turian. Exhaling a calming breath, she spoke in a soft, measured tone. "Executor, this is not just a human matter. I don't know what Saren is planning or how he intends to involve the geth, but from what I saw in that beacon, it's bigger than just a vendetta against a single race. This affects the turians, the salarians, the asari,…all of us." Her blue eyes were clear and resolute. "We need to take action."

He returned her gaze steadily. "Trust me; I know how dangerous a rogue Spectre can be. Saren is a prime example of why I can't support any organization that abides above the law. In my thirty years at C-Sec, I've never had to break the law to do my job. Not once," he spat bitterly, his mandibles flaring with emotion. "Spectres are the right hand of the Council and, as such, they never come under scrutiny. Corruption is bound to happen."

"Then we agree. Saren is out of control," she stated. "So what's the problem?"

He ran a taloned hand across the back of his neck, sighing as he continued. "Commander, in all my time with C-Sec, the Council has yet to take action against a Spectre. Agents abuse their discretionary power while the Council prefers to turn a blind eye. We here at C-Sec are doing everything in our power to build a case against Saren, but…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"But what?" she prodded.

"But don't get your hopes up," he advised grimly. His eyes were hard.

Heaving a dejected sigh, Shepard straightened. She had come here wanting to get a better feel for how the Council would react to Saren's treachery. Now, she had her answer.

"Thank you for your honesty, Executor. And for trying."

He acknowledged her solemnly. "I'm sorry, for both our sakes, that it's not the answer you wanted."

"Me too," she responded as she turned toward the exit.

"And Commander…"

She paused, looking at him expectantly over her shoulder.

"Rumor has it you're the next candidate for the Spectres. Remember what I said." His low voice conveyed a somber warning. "Don't let the power corrupt you. Stay vigilant, or else you'll end up just like him."

Her eyes were pure steel as she left Executor Pallin's office, a picture of resolute determination.

* * *

Ashley Williams hoisted herself up onto the railing at her back, letting her feet dangle a few feet above the pedestrian bridge that stretched across the Presidium's lake. Behind her, a life-like metal monument in the shape of a mass relay cast its hulking shadow, shading her from the Citadel's artificial sunlight. She double-checked her omni-tool. _1545 at the Relay Monument_ , read the message from Shepard.

She was only five minutes early, but still, that was five extra minutes she could have lingered at the Emporium, haggling with the hanar shopkeeper over the price of the newest assault rifle mods. She was almost positive he would have knocked off a couple more credits if only she had worn him down enough. Alternatively, she could have spent the extra five minutes over at the embassy lounge with some of the other crew members, poking fun at Private Fredricks as he spun tall-tales about his steamy encounters with the asari consort that everyone knew were fabricated. Or, she could have…

Her musings were suddenly interrupted as she recognized Commander Shepard's distinctive blonde tresses on the far end of the bridge. She hopped down from her perch as the officer approached, rendering a salute in greeting.

Shepard returned the salute before conducting a quick scan of the area. "Lieutenant Alenko not here yet?" she asked.

Williams shook her head. "Haven't seen him yet."

Shepard shrugged, glancing at her watch. "Oh well, he's got a couple minutes yet." She leaned casually back against the bridge's railing, crossing her ankles in front of her as they waited. Secretly, she hoped that Alenko took his time – anything to further postpone the Council meeting. She had already dreaded the hearing before visiting with Executor Pallin, but now…

"Everything all right, ma'am?"

Williams' concerned voice broke through her internal reflections, pulling her back to the present. Shepard glanced over to find Williams observing her with apprehension. The younger woman had seen the distress that had clouded the Commander's features while she had been deep in her own thoughts, and it had filled her with unease.

"Just worried about our meeting with the Council," she answered honestly.

Williams offered an understanding nod. "Yeah, Udina didn't exactly give us a lot of confidence, did he?"

"No, he did not," Shepard agreed grimly. She shook her head slightly to clear her lingering anxiety, eager to change the subject to something less bleak. "But enough worrying about things that haven't happened yet. Have a good time exploring the Citadel?"

Williams couldn't suppress a grin as she pulled a small square package from a pocket inside the shell of her armor. "Sure did," she said as she opened the wrapping, revealing its contents to Shepard. Inside lay a stack of digital postcards, each one programmed to scroll through a loop of various scenic viewpoints within the Citadel.

"I'm going to send one to each of my three sisters," she explained. "They will be so jealous that I got to visit here. Our dad used to tell us stories about the beauty of the Citadel when he would come home from deployments."

"These are great," remarked Shepard, admiring the postcards with interest. She recognized many of the scenes from around the Presidium, including one of the Relay Monument they were currently standing under. "I didn't know your dad was in the service," she added.

Williams nodded. "I come from a long line of military servicemen and women. I guess it's just in my blood," she shrugged.

Shepard had just opened her mouth to inquire further when Williams began squinting at something in the distance. "Here comes the Lieutenant," she stated after a moment, pointing over Shepard's shoulder. Sure enough, Shepard turned to see Alenko approaching, his dark hair and tanned complexion contrasting with the Citadel's sterile white architecture in the background.

He was a mere ten feet away from them when he stopped dead in his tracks. His face wore a mask of pain as his hands flew up to clutch his head. He began to backpedal blindly, using the bridge railing as a guide.

Shepard exchanged a quick glance of confusion with Williams before rushing toward him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he reassured through gritted teeth, before either of the women could ask. He had halted his retreat a short distance away and seemed to be recovering, though he still sagged heavily against the railing for support.

"The hell you are!" retorted Shepard. She clamped a firm hand on his upper arm and gently guided him toward a nearby bench where he collapsed with a grateful huff. She crouched down in front of him, silently allowing him time to recover as she patiently awaited an explanation. Williams stood close by, concern lining her face.

"I think it's that statue," he began after taking a few cleansing breaths. "Can you hear that hum coming from it? It makes my teeth tingle. And apparently it also interferes with my L2 implant." He rubbed his temples gingerly as he eyed the Relay Monument with trepidation.

Shepard had read about the myriad of issues surrounding the L2 implants. Back in the early days, when the physiology and science behind biotics still wasn't fully understood, many individuals showing biotic potential were outfitted with the L2 devices, which allowed them to sync their abilities directly with their nervous systems. While this enabled the users to harness biotic power like never before, the side effects were plentiful. Many implanted biotics began experiencing psychosis and other debilitating mental conditions. Because of this, the L2s were quickly outlawed and the more advanced and substantially safer L3s were put into production. According to her review of his service record, Alenko was one of the lucky ones. His only side effect was the occasional migraine headache. And, apparently, a sensitivity to large metal statues.

"Strange," Williams mused, as she approached the monument again. "I don't hear anything, or feel any different."

"I don't recall hearing or feeling anything either," seconded Shepard as she studied the structure from her crouched position in front of Alenko. Then, turning back to Alenko, "You're sure you're alright now?" The color had returned to his face and his dark eyes were clear once again.

He nodded, pushing himself off the bench to a standing position. "Yes, I'm fine now. It was blinding when I got too close, but the pain is gone now. Just a couple residual shockwaves." He grimaced momentarily as one chose that moment to prove his point. "The further away from that thing, the better, I think," he surmised.

"You'd better hope the Council doesn't have another replica up in their tower," joked Williams lightheartedly, before glancing briefly at her watch. "Speaking of which, we should probably get going, Commander."

"Let's get moving," she agreed. Her puzzled gaze hovered a moment longer on the monument before she turned to follow her squad into the tower.

* * *

After what seemed like an endless ascent, Shepard finally felt the elevator begin to slow. A soft _ding_ announced the trio's arrival on the top floor of Citadel Tower – the Council Chambers. As the doors slid open, they stepped out into what resembled the inside of a castle. Vaulted ceilings peaked high above them and multiple grand staircases provided a steady inclined path up to the main audience chamber. The steady bubbling of numerous fountains and sweet scent of cherry blossom trees further increased the ambience of elegance.

"Wow," commented Williams, taking in the scenery. "Somebody is certainly trying to make an impression. I mean, seriously – what are those? Cherry trees?"

Alenko expelled a low whistle. "No kidding. I kinda like that fountain though. It's soothing," he added offhandedly as they followed Shepard up the first set of stairs.

Two turians stood at the top of the landing, their postures tense and voices raised in heated discussion. Shepard recognized Executor Pallin immediately. His arms were crossed over his chest as he shook his head at his companion's words, the hard lines of his face scowling in grim disapproval. She had become very familiar with that expression during their last meeting.

"I need more time!" entreated the unknown turian, his gestures animated with frustration. "Stall them, whatever it takes. Saren is hiding something, I know it. "

Three sets of human ears perked up at the mention of Saren's name. They slowed their ascent up the staircase as Shepard inched closer to the pair, attempting to listen in without interrupting.

But the conversation was already over. "Stall the Council?" they heard Executor Pallin's low voice scoff. "Don't be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus." He turned his back without waiting for a reply, his booted feet echoing in the expansive chamber as he walked away.

The remaining turian watched the Executor's departure stoically for a moment, before venting an angry snarl and sending a gloved talon crashing down forcefully on the lip of the fountain at his side. Containing his outburst with a single calming breath, he turned toward the fountain, hanging his head dejectedly as he fixed an unseeing stare on the rippling pool beneath him.

"Rough day at the office?" quipped a lighthearted voice behind him. Shepard stopped just short of where Executor Pallin had stood just moments before, taking note of the black and blue armor so characteristic of C-Sec agents.

Garrus turned swiftly to face her, a sharp retort armed on his lips at the speaker's poorly timed humor. He held his tongue, however, as his eyes fell on the slender figure of a human woman. Blonde chin-length fringe (or hair, he thought they called it) had been tucked neatly behind her ears, a few errant locks partially obscuring her left eye. She wore a set of black armor, a red N7 designation displayed prominently on the chestplate, and was flanked by two Alliance soldiers – this could be none other than the infamous Commander Shepard.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied with a shrug, straightening as he faced her. "I'm Garrus Vakarian, the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren. And that was Executor Pallin, my boss."

Shepard appraised him coolly. He was tall, even by turian standards, and wore a distinctive combat targeting visor on the left side of his face. His predatory blue eyes were accentuated by tribal face paint of the same hue.

She smirked at his mention of the Executor. "Oh, we've met," she stated, before turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. "What did you find on Saren? Anything I should know about?"

He shook his head somberly. "Because he's a Spectre, almost everything on him is classified. I couldn't find any solid evidence. If I just had more time!" he growled bitterly before continuing. "Regardless, I know he's up to something. Like you humans say, I feel it in my gut."

"Well, it's not the good news I had hoped for," Shepard replied, exhaling a heavy sigh, "but you did what you could."

He nodded in reply, though he didn't seem convinced.

To Shepard, Garrus' words had been merely a confirmation of what Executor Pallin had already asserted. She knew now with certainty the future outcome of the hearing. Once again, the tendrils of dread began to seep into the pit of her stomach. Concurrently, she was just as aware of her squad's watchful eyes and the turian's calculating gaze on her. They were waiting for her cue, waiting for her to set the tone.

In reply, she stuffed down her personal reservations, securing her Commander's mask in place over them.

"On the bright side, you're much better at human expressions that your boss," she stated with a grin. "He told me to keep my fingers out of his pie earlier."

Humor did the trick as the dark mood dissipated, driven away by her squad's laughter and Garrus' appreciative snicker. The underlying message was clear. Though things looked grim, they weren't giving up just yet.

"Good luck then, Commander," he said, extending a taloned hand in a custom he had often witnessed between humans. "Maybe they'll listen to you."

Shepard shook his proffered hand firmly in farewell. "Let's hope so."

* * *

Captain Anderson was already waiting for them as they crested the final staircase.

"Come on," he urged. "The hearing is just about to start." He beckoned them to follow, and they fell in step behind him as he led the way into the main Council audience chamber.

The audience chamber exuded grandeur and sophistication in excess even of the rest of the tower's top level. Gone were the cherry blossom trees, replaced instead by a lush garden encased in glass beneath their feet. The colorful flowers below seemed almost out of place, creating a whimsical feel that contrasted with the sober mood of the room's occupants. Across the sea of greenery and on the far side of the chamber, the three Councilors stood regally behind their respective judge's benches. Flanking their left side in the form of an enlarged hologram, was Saren himself. The projection towered at least twenty-five feet tall and bathed half of the room in a soft orange glow.

Anderson guided them across the glass flooring to a small pedestal placed prominently in the center of the chamber, where Udina was already pleading humanity's case against Saren.

"While the geth attack is concerning, there is nothing to indicate Saren's involvement in any way," reasoned the asari Councilor as the group approached.

"The C-Sec investigation turned up no evidence to support your charge of treason," added the turian Councilor.

Udina shook his head in disbelief. "An eyewitness saw him kill Nihlus in cold blood! What more evidence do you need?" he contended, raising his voice.

"We've read the reports, Ambassador," answered the salarian Councilor evenly. "The testimony of one traumatized dockworker is hardly compelling proof."

Captain Anderson caught Shepard's eye, concern evident on his countenance. If the Council refused to accept witness testimony of the events on Eden Prime, then their case was effectively reduced to mere hearsay and conjecture. Shepard, for her part, returned Anderson's glance emotionlessly, already expecting as much. Had she been able to catch him up about her discussions with Executor Pallin or Garrus Vakarian, he would have certainly anticipated the same.

"I resent these accusations," boomed a deep voice that echoed throughout the chamber. Saren, or rather, his oversized hologram, glared down at the Council angrily. "Nihlus was a fellow Spectre, and a friend."

"Yes, making it easier for you to shoot him in the back!" burst out Anderson, his fists balled at his sides with fury.

Shepard studied her commanding officer, arching a curious brow at his behavior. While she agreed with his sentiment, it was not like him to show such emotion, nor to speak out of turn.

"Ah, Captain Anderson," drawled Saren, resting his gaze on the newcomers for the first time. "Once again, it's you that's involved when humanity makes false charges against me." His eyes flickered over to Shepard with a flash of recognition. "And you…you must be his protégé. Commander Shepard, is it? You're the one that destroyed the beacon."

Shepard bristled at the deception. "That's a lie," she retorted. "You're the one who destroyed the beacon. Then you tried to cover it all up!"

"Yes, shift the blame to cover your own failures," he scoffed in reply. "Just like Captain Anderson. He's taught you well." He turned away from them, directing his next words to the Council. "But what can you really expect, from a human?"

She had been angry before, but at the insult to her mentor's character, a cold fury enveloped her. Images of the lifeless bodies of the Eden Prime colonists, of Nihlus and of Jenkins materialized unbidden in her mind – all senseless deaths directly attributable to the arrogant Spectre before her.

"You can expect me to put a bullet in your chest the next time we meet," she threatened icily, giving answer to his rhetorical question before the Council could respond.

"Threatening my life, Shepard?" Saren turned back to her, his tone equally cold. "You need to learn your place. Your species isn't ready to join the Council, and you are definitely not ready to become a Spectre!"

"Enough!" proclaimed the authoritative voice of the asari Councilor, her eyes shifting between Saren, Anderson and Shepard disapprovingly. "I will not stand for slander, idle threats or childish bickering in this chamber. Neither humanity's induction into the Council nor Shepard's admission into the Spectres are the purpose of this meeting."

There was a pronounced silence at the Councilor's words as both parties backed down, each shaking their respective disgruntled heads.

"This meeting has no purpose," asserted Saren bitterly, breaking the silence. He crossed his arms across his chest as he turned back to address the Council. "The humans are wasting your time, Councilor. And mine."

"Don't let him fool you," defended Ambassador Udina, shaking his head adamantly. He faced the Council, leaning forward against the pedestal in earnest as he delivered his closing argument. "We have witness testimony placing Saren on Eden Prime and killing Nihlus, there is the sudden mysterious emergence of the geth and then we have Commander Shepard's vision. Together, it's enough! Don't let Saren hide behind his position as a Spectre."

"We have already discussed the credibility of the witness, and the geth presence cannot be positively linked to Saren," responded the salarian Councilor with a sigh. "As for the vision, we cannot introduce the unsubstantiated dream of one individual into evidence. What we need is solid proof. So far, we have seen nothing."

"I agree," seconded the turian Councilor. "Our judgment must be based on facts and evidence, not wild imaginings and reckless speculation."

The asari regarded her companions respectfully before addressing Udina herself. "I believe we are ready to render a verdict. Ambassador, do you have anything to add?"

Shepard and her squad observed the exchange mutely, each anticipating the Council's ruling with dismay. It was clear that the Council had already made up its mind, no matter how ornate or flowery Udina crafted his next counterpoint.

But Udina merely shook his head despondently, apparently having come to the same conclusion as the rest of them.

"Very well," continued the asari, speaking clearly and deliberately. "The Council has found no evidence of any connection between Saren and the events on Eden Prime. Ambassador, your petition to have him disbarred from the Spectres is denied. This meeting is adjourned."

A verdict handed down and their purpose fulfilled, the three Councilors filed out of the chamber without a backwards glanced. Wordlessly, Udina followed their example, pushing past Shepard and her squad as he made his way toward the exit. He stopped at the door, looking back at the four soldiers and gesturing impatiently for them to follow.

Obediently, Shepard headed toward the exit, turning back momentarily as she reached the doorway. Her last sight before she passed through the doorway was that of Saren's hologram, a malicious grin directed at her before it blinked out into darkness.


	8. Chapter 7 - Searching For Proof

_Author's Notes: Took a little break from this story for the last few months, but I'm back at it now! Here's a nice long chapter to keep you guys busy before I get the next one up._

* * *

Chapter 7

Searching for Proof

"Well?" snapped Ambassador Udina. "What the _hell_ was that?!"

His voice punctured the stillness with the crack of a whip, and only Shepard's extensive military training countered her instinct to jump in surprise at the abrupt interruption. Up until now, not a word had been exchanged since leaving the Council Chambers – not as they wound their way single-file through the Presidium, not as they reached the human embassy, not even as they sat in strained silence around the small conference table for the past ten minutes. In that time, the atmosphere in the room had become so stifling that she almost welcomed Udina's interruption, however hostile. _Almost._

Across the table, her two squadmates observed Udina warily. It was clear from the Ambassador's tone that it was going to be _that_ kind of meeting – the kind that usually started with a tongue lashing and ended with the doling out of extra cleaning duties, the nature of which typically required a toothbrush. Williams, practically oozing nervous energy, shifted uncomfortably in her chair while Alenko's forehead creased with anxiety. Only Anderson, sitting calmly next to Shepard, appeared unfazed, his crossed hands resting serenely on the wooden surface in front of him.

A palpable tension began to settle around them as Udina's hard eyes flitted back and forth between Shepard and Anderson, his unanswered question still hanging in the air. "Ah, I see," he said finally, breaking the silence once again. "Now…now you have nothing to say." His voice began to rise, each word louder than the last until he was practically shouting, his arms crossed imposingly across his chest as he glowered down at them from where he stood at the head of the table. "You had plenty to say in there with the Council, but now? Nothing!"

Still, silence was the only response. Anybody who had been in the military for more than a day had experienced at least one 'dressing down' and quickly learned that contesting often did more harm than good. Wordlessly weathering the storm was the only viable option – one which both senior officers were currently practicing. Captain Anderson continued to observe Udina coolly from across the table while Shepard fixed her eyes straight ahead, jaw set firmly.

But the lack of reply seemed only to spur Udina on. He directed his attention toward Shepard, his eyes flashing. "Threatening the life of a Spectre in the middle of a courtroom, Shepard?" he huffed. "If you had been back on Earth, you would have been held in contempt of court, if not outright detained! It's a disgrace to the Alliance. Hell, it's a disgrace to humanity!"

He paused, waiting for a reply. But Shepard offered no response, her somber gaze boring a hole in the opposing wall. He scowled. "You know, I'd have thought the N7 program would have instilled a little more discipline and self-control in you, but it appears old habits die hard."

The reference to her pre-Alliance history was not lost on her, nor was the unmistakable sneer in Udina's voice. After her actions at Akuze had begun to grant her widespread notoriety, the Alliance had done its best to bury the information on her criminal past deep in her records. Her juvenile record was to remain sealed by order of top Alliance brass. After all, it would be an embarrassment to the organization if it was leaked that one of their war heroes was a bona-fide felon. They had since classified the background section in her service jacket and the information was on a strict need-to-know basis. It was a requirement that, apparently, Ambassador Udina had met. Regardless, Shepard would not give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her. Hardened eyes remained fixed straight ahead, the slight rippling of her neck muscles as she clenched her jaw the only indication that she had even heard him.

Udina opened his mouth to speak again but was cut short by Anderson's clear voice, "I think that's enough, Ambassador."

His words were dressed with the timbre of suggestion, but the underlying warning was obvious. Up until now, Anderson had been content to monitor the majority of the exchange with silent sympathy, but hinting at the classified nature of Shepard's file in front of un-informed subordinates – that was crossing the line.

"Enough, Captain?" spat Udina as he shifted his aim to a new target. "I haven't even started on your performance!"

Clearly, lapses in classified document protocol were not his primary concern at the moment.

"I should have known better than to bring you in there," he continued. "You have too much history with Saren, which you did a great job of highlighting with your little outburst. Now it looks like accusing Saren was just some desperate attempt at petty revenge!"

It was the first Shepard had heard of a prior relationship between Saren and her commanding officer, and she abandoned her military bearing long enough to steal a surprised glance in his direction. They had discussed Saren in private more than once and he had never mentioned any history with Saren. Information like that was clearly valuable intelligence for the mission; information like that was worth sharing. So why hadn't he?

Anderson felt her gaze on him immediately and returned it for a brief moment. As he expected, he saw a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity in her expression. What he didn't expect, however, was the flicker of mistrust in her eyes. She extinguished it almost as soon as it appeared, but Anderson felt the sting like a slap in the face. He sighed heavily, lifting his gaze to meet Ambassador Udina's. "You're right," he said simply.

Four pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise. Even Ambassador Udina appeared taken aback by Captain Anderson's unitary concession.

"I knew I was emotionally compromised, yet I did not remove myself from the assignment," he expanded in response to their unvoiced questions. Like any marine, Anderson was a proud man, but his many years of experience had taught him to never let that pride get in the way of accepting responsibility for his own actions. "It was my mistake," he shrugged.

There was a brief moment of silence as Udina ran a hand through his graying hair. Whether Anderson's acceptance of responsibility had placated him or whether he had simply yelled himself out, Udina appeared to have lost the angry fervor of only moments before.

"As noble as your admission of fault is, Anderson," he sighed, "the damage is already done. The Council isn't going to change its mind. It's over."

There was no response as each of the room's occupants digested the implications with varying degrees of despondence. Udina's melancholy assessment was contagious, and silence once again reigned supreme. Only Kaidan Alenko seemed immune, his eyes flickering between each of his fellow soldiers in disbelief at their apparent acceptance of Udina's flippant dismissal of the issue. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The Council's unwillingness to assist was undoubtedly a major setback to their cause, but it was merely an obstacle they would have to overcome, not the final nail in the coffin. He let his gaze settle finally on Shepard, searching her features hopefully for some sign that he was not alone in his opinions. He found what he was looking for as she met his dark eyes from across the table. Reflected in her own was a spark of stubborn resilience. It was all the encouragement he needed to break the silence.

"We can't just give up!" he protested suddenly. All eyes were on him immediately, multiple sets of eyebrows raised in surprise to hear him speak for the first time since before the meeting with the Council. He set his jaw in resolute determination. "It wasn't that many years ago that we thought we were the only life in the galaxy. We did just fine handling our own problems back then without the Council's help, and we can do it again now."

From the corner of his eye, Alenko could see Chief Williams nodding enthusiastically in agreement. He shot another quick glance at Shepard to find that she was already looking at him. The ghost of an appreciative smile crossed her lips and she nodded almost imperceptibly in approval. And there was something else, something like a newfound respect.

"I agree," said Shepard, holding Alenko's gaze for a moment longer before lifting her eyes to Udina's. "We can't sit around and do nothing while Saren plans his next attack."

But Udina was not convinced. "And exactly what do you propose, Lieutenant? As a Spectre, Saren has unlimited resources and galactic influence. He's virtually untouchable."

Alenko shook his head, shrugging his shoulders as he replied. "Nothing yet, Ambassador, but I'm open to suggestions." He let his eyes wander around the table expectantly.

There was a pronounced creak as Captain Anderson leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin thoughtfully. "We need to expose him. Find something on him that even the Council can't ignore. As long as Saren is still a Spectre, taking him down will be damn near impossible."

"Wait," Williams' broke in excitedly. "That turian, from outside the Council Chambers! Didn't he say that he knew Saren was up to something?"

"That's right!" exclaimed Alenko, his expressions becoming animated as he picked up on the possible lead Williams had identified. "He was arguing with the Executor, saying that he just needed more time to finish his investigation. Sounded like he was on the track to uncovering something, but just ran out of time."

Captain Anderson exchanged confused glances with Ambassador Udina before turning to Shepard questioningly.

"The C-Sec officer in charge of the investigation into Saren, sir," she explained. "We ran into him before the hearing. Said his name was Garrus Vakarian." She furrowed her brow as she thought back to their earlier encounter with the turian. The idea of relying on an outsider to provide their first real lead without knowing his credibility and true allegiances didn't sit well with her.

Anderson studied his executive officer, the shadow of hesitation that crossed her features not escaping his watchful eye. "Well, Commander. What do you think?" he prodded.

Shepard was silent for a moment, absently chewing on her lip as she mulled over his query. From her earlier discussion with Executor Pallin, she knew that at least _he_ was as interested in getting rid of Saren as they were, albeit for differing reasons. Surely he wouldn't assign an incompetent investigator to a case he felt so strongly about. She still wasn't in love with the idea, but with no other leads, what were their other options anyway?

"It's the best we've got," she answered finally. She looked again toward Udina, who was silently observing the exchange from his position at the head of the table. "Ambassador, can you contact the Executor and get a location on Officer Vakarian? Captain Anderson and I can bring him in for questioning if we can find him."

"You and I won't be doing anything," broke in Anderson's steady voice before Udina could respond. "My interference has already created enough issues. I'm stepping aside. This is your investigation now, Shepard."

Anderson could see the dissent taking shape in her mind before she was even able to form the words. It wasn't easy to take a backseat on a mission so important, but they simply couldn't risk devaluing anything they might turn up because of his own personal grievances with Saren. He quickly interrupted any budding argument with a stern glare of finality. Shepard met his eyes steadily for a moment, before backing down with a sigh and a curt nod. "Yes, sir."

Udina, meanwhile, had already stepped away to the other end of the room and was engaged in a conversation on his omni-tool. The four soldiers turned toward him expectantly as he wrapped up the discussion and made his way back toward them. "Garrus Vakarian is scheduled to have the next two days off. The Executor says he has no idea where he spends his time outside of work, and there was no response when he pinged his omni-tool," he informed them, his hands coming to rest on his hips. "But," he continued quickly, noting the disappointment on their faces at the news, "I have another contact at C-Sec that might be able to help track him down. His name is Harkin."

Anderson emitted a sharp and unexpected laugh, drawing all attentions to him. "That drunk?" he scoffed. "I know of him. I heard he was suspended indefinitely for drinking on the job. I say good riddance. He gives humans a bad name." He shook his head, wrinkling his nose in an expression of clear disgust.

"Yes, the one and the same," confirmed Udina, echoing Anderson's sentiments with his tone. "A bad egg, to say the least. Bribery, unlawful force, alcohol problems…" He ticked off the offenses on his fingers grimly. "But still, "he continued with a shrug," he's been with C-Sec for twenty years. He knows everything about everyone. If anybody knows where to find Garrus, it'll be him."

Anderson considered the Ambassador's words carefully, before nodding slowly in begrudging agreement. He turned to Shepard at his side. "Probably true. Your best bet is to start at Chora's Den, the seedy bar down in the Tayseri Ward. Plenty of alcohol and plenty of trouble in that place – two of Harkin's favorite things."

Shepard was on her feet and moving in an instant. "We'll keep you informed, sir," she tossed over her shoulder as she exited the human embassy, Alenko and Williams close behind.

* * *

Like the other four Wards on the Citadel, Tayseri Ward was only a quick elevator ride down from the centralized Presidium. The proximity, however, quickly proved to be inconsequential. The two places couldn't be more opposite. With each foot they descended, the stilted formality of the Presidium began to melt away into the vigorous energy of the Wards. An eclectic mix of citizens filled the corridors as the very air pulsed with life, bolstered by a backdrop of lights, noise and constant activity. To step into the Wards was to step into another world entirely.

Williams seemed to come alive with the change, intoxicated with the animation and vitality surrounding them. Her eyes were wide as they wove through market stalls selling everything from rare weapon mods to collectable Citadel souvenirs. Alenko, in contrast, regarded the crowds with suspicion and more than a hint of annoyance, occasionally muttering about his dislike for crowds under his breath.

Shepard found herself somewhere in between the two extremes. This was her world, after all, with all the characteristics of bustling downtown Chicago on a warm weekend night. It was comfortingly familiar, and she relished the refreshing departure from the choking elitism of the Presidium. On the other hand, however, she had also experienced first-hand the cost that often came with such casual oversight and relaxed enforcement like that of the Wards. It fostered an environment ripe for those looking to turn a profit, and provided a steady stream of unwitting victims on which to prey. Her formative years had allowed her to become intimately acquainted with this dynamic – only this time, she wouldn't be the one doing the hunting. She didn't need to see the C-Sec officers stationed every fifty yards to know that they had left the safety of the Presidium far behind.

As such, Shepard wasn't _that_ surprised when her team found themselves scrambling for cover a short time later. They had only just rounded the corner of the entrance to Chora's Den when a hail of gunfire peppered their shields. Shepard and her team immediately dove to the floor, fortunate that the walkway's metal safeguards were of sufficient strength to provide protection from the assault. They quickly fanned out along the barrier and began returning fire.

"I think _'seedy'_ was an understatement, ma'am!" hollered Williams from her position on the far right corner of the barrier, referring to Captain Anderson's earlier characterization of Chora's Den. She deftly loaded a new heat sink into her rifle. "The skipper might want to broaden his vocabulary before next time!"

Shepard nodded ruefully in agreement before popping her head up over the barrier and unleashing a short burst of fire. Already, her team had eliminated one of the assailants. Only one remained, his depleted shields barely able to withstand the volley. It took only one additional shot from Alenko's heavy pistol to finally dispatch him.

Cautiously, the team approached the bodies. Both were turian, armed to the teeth with assault rifles, grenades and spare heat sinks. Shepard kept her weapon trained on the nearest one, kicking away the blood-stained weapon as she approached. There was a loud clatter behind her as Williams followed suit with the second rifle. Once both women were in position, Alenko holstered his pistol and knelt next to the first dead turian. Practiced hands checked for a pulse and patted down his pockets before moving on to the second.

"Both dead," he stated after a moment, straightening to his full height.

Shepard lowered her rifle and returned it to its cradle on her back. "Find anything to tell us who these guys might be?"

Alenko shook his head. "They were clean. Not even a spare credit," he responded with a shrug. "But look at them. Well-funded, organized, prepared. They've got to be Saren's men, sent to kill us."

She stepped closer to the bodies in observation, noting the identical sets of late model Titan series armor, high-end targeting visors and pristine Crossfire rifles. Indeed, such equipment far exceeded the budget of a common petty criminal. That, combined with the attack's opportune timing, certainly corroborated Alenko's theory. This was no crime of opportunity; this had been a contracted ambush. And it didn't take a detective to deduce the probable employer.

"Saren's? Yes, probably," she agreed as she let her sharp eyes wonder across the bodies one final time. "But to kill us? I doubt it. Two against three aren't the kind of odds that ensure a kill." She turned away from the bodies, letting her gaze sweep the corridor warily, her expression thoughtful. "No, we're not enough of a threat just yet for him waste many resources on us."

"A warning, then," inferred Williams.

Shepard nodded. "I think so. Which means we don't have time to wait around for C-Sec to detain and interrogate us about these bodies. Saren is bound to try again once he finds out his scare tactic didn't work." She began making her way toward the large double doors directly underneath the flashing neon silhouette of provocatively-posed asari.

Quickly, Alenko and Williams fell in step with their leader, slipping into the entrance to Chora's Den just as two armor-clad C-Sec officers arrived on the scene.

* * *

Shepard wasn't sure exactly what she expected from one of the Citadel's most popular entertainment venues – alcohol, crowds, maybe some music. And while Chora's Den certainly had all of that, what she definitely _hadn't_ expected was for it to be quite so…earth-like.

The scene that unfolded in front of them was straight out of a Las Vegas nightclub. A steady crowd of patrons surged against a large circular bar that dominated the center of the space, while bartenders rushed from one liquor bottle to the next under dim, blue-tinted lighting. The bar itself formed a ring around a raised platform where color-changing neon lights illuminated a wide stage. On top of the stage, several asari dancers swung their hips in time with the pulsing bass line.

The trio watched as a hopeful salarian stumbled past them and up to the edge of the stage, waving a fistful of credits in the direction of the nearest dancer. With a sultry smile, she slid off the stage and into his waiting arms, guiding his unsteady steps to one of the darkened seating areas that lined the outer walls of the club.

"Wow," she heard Williams remark from behind her. "A million miles away from where humanity began and we've just walked into the damn Playboy Mansion," she said dryly, shaking her head.

An expression of wry amusement crossed Shepard's face as her eyes shifted from the temporary lovebirds and focused back to the stage, where additional suitors were vying for the asari attentions. If Chora's Den was any indicator, it appeared that human males weren't the only species in the galaxy who preferred this particular version of entertainment.

"Let's get this over with then," she sighed. Forming a single file line, they snaked into the bustling crowd.

It took several minutes and even more disgruntled patrons by the time Shepard was able to push herself and her team up to the bar. The human bartender glanced up briefly at their approach before returning his concentration to the three cocktail glasses lined up in front of them. "Be with you in just two minutes," he tossed over his shoulder as he turned to grab a bottle of orange glowing liquid from the shelf behind him.

"Make it one," returned Shepard brusquely.

Her serious tone halted him mid-pour and he looked up curiously, fully perceiving them for the first time. Wary eyes journeyed from their sets of armor, to the weapons on their backs, and then finally came to rest on the Alliance insignia on their chestplates. He nodded slowly. "You got it. Be right back," he conceded, before hurrying off to deliver the now-completed cocktails.

Shepard drummed her fingers absently on the bartop as they awaited his return, scanning the faces of the club's varied visitors. Turians, humans, volus, salarians, hanar, drell – Chora's Den seemed to appeal to an array of species. Ironic how the promise of barely clothed women could bring unity between the races where all the peace treaties and diplomacy could not. _Speaking of which…_ Her eyes fell on the unusually quiet form of Alenko standing beside her. Up to this point, he had done an admirable job of resisting the urge to enjoy the show, sneaking only a surreptitious glance here and there when he thought Shepard and Williams wouldn't notice. Now, however, he was completely enthralled by the nearby asari dancer as she demonstrated her impressive flexibility.

Rolling her eyes, Shepard clapped a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled herself up to his height. "Stay sharp, Lieutenant," she hissed in his ear.

Alenko started at the unexpected interruption, snapping out of his reverie with alarm. He turned to her with a sheepish grimace. "Commander, I'm sorry," he hurriedly apologized. "I assure you, it won't happen ag—"

He stopped short as he caught the smirk playing across Shepard's lips, the glint of amusement clearly visible in her eyes.

"Ah. You're making fun of me."

She merely raised her eyebrows at him in response. But the moment was short-lived as her attentions were quickly drawn elsewhere, the smirk replaced by an expression of concentration as her eyes shifted focus from his face to an apparent disturbance behind him.

Alenko followed her gaze to the back of the bar where several bystanders had begun to form a wide ring around two krogan. Their voices were elevated and their stances aggressive, indicative of an impending fight. Nearby patrons eyed the pair nervously while giving them a wide berth. Nobody wanted to get caught up in a krogan brawl if they could help it. It was common knowledge that krogan fights typically involved significant collateral damage, to include innocent bystanders.

Despite the krogan's raised voices, the commotion at the bar was simply too loud to catch the conversation. Shepard made to move closer and investigate, but hesitated as she detected the bartender headed back toward them out of her periphery. Perhaps she should have allowed him his two minutes, after all.

"Alenko, go check it out," she ordered with a tilt of her head in the direction of the arguing krogan.

He nodded and began picking his way back through the crowd as Shepard turned to face the awaiting bartender.

"So, what can I do for you ladies?" he asked as he leaned against the bar, glancing between Shepard and Williams expectantly.

"We're looking for someone," answered Shepard. "A guy by the name of Harkin. We heard he comes here often."

He chuckled as he haphazardly tossed a bar rag over his shoulder. "Harkin? Oh yeah, I know him. Real piece of work, that one. He's here more often than not, now that C-Sec gave him the boot. He usually hangs out at that table over there," he provided, pointing with an index finger to one of the far seating areas.

Shepard craned her neck, attempting to make out any figures in the area indicated. The dark silhouette of a solitary human male stood out among the others. He sat alone at a table, seemingly content to sip on a glass of liquor while leering at the women on stage. She turned back to bartender, tossing him a curt nod as she slid a few credits across the bartop. "We appreciate the info."

"Anytime," he returned with a wide grin, his sudden upswing in friendliness most certainly inspired by the credits he had already swiped off the counter and shoved into his pockets. "Oh, and by the way," he added in a lowered voice as he leaned over the bartop conspiratorially, "he's usually got a few drinks in him by this time of night, so I'd approach with some caution. He can get a little, uh, _difficult,_ sometimes." He flashed them one more smile before rushing away to help another customer further on down the bar.

"Drunk and belligerent. A winning combination," Williams commented sardonically. "Should we wait for LT before we start the fun, ma'am?"

"Yeah. I don't think our guy is going anywhere soon," answered Shepard, nodding toward the presumed figure of Harkin. In the time since she had first identified him, he had acquired the company of one of the dancers. The asari woman sat on his knee, his arm tight around her waist. "Besides, Alenko should be back any –"

Her sentence was cut short as an unwelcome arm draped roughly across both her and Williams' shoulders. "Hey-a, either of you ladies gonna be up on stage later?" slurred a deep voice behind them. The stench of alcohol wafted from his mouth as he spoke.

Williams and Shepard barely had time to exchange furious glances before they felt the offending appendages torn sharply from their shoulders.

"Not today, buddy," materialized Alenko's steady voice from behind them. The two women turned to see Alenko holding the drunken man by the back of his shirt collar. While his tone was calm, his eyes flashed with annoyance and distaste as he shoved the man back into the crowd.

"Good timing, LT" said Williams as she made a show of brushing off her shoulder in disgust.

"Very," Shepard agreed as she watched the drunken man stumble away through narrowed eyes. The sooner they were done with this place, the better. "So, anything interesting over there with the krogan?"

Alenko stole one last sidelong glance at the departing figure before turning back to Shepard. He paused for a moment before shaking his head. "No, not really. One was a bouncer here in the club and wasn't going to let the other one in to talk to the club's owner," he relayed, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing relating to us, or Saren, or that attack outside as far as I could tell. What about you two? Any luck with the bartender?"

In answer, Shepard pointed in the direction indicated by the bartender earlier. "There's our guy over there." She waited, giving Alenko the chance to pick out their target in the shadows.

He squinted as he scanned the crowd on the other side of the bar. "Uh, the guy with the stri –, ahem, dancer on his lap?"

"The one and the same," she nodded. "And I think it's about time we introduce ourselves."

He and Williams nodded enthusiastically, both of them anxious to get what they came for. It hadn't taken either of them long to witness first hand that Chora's Den was trouble. Shepard wasn't the only one looking forward to leaving it far behind.

* * *

Harkin didn't even notice them as they approached, his face nuzzled tight against the dancer's neck as he whispered something into her ear. Shepard was willing to bet it was a far cry from a sweet nothing, whatever it was. Sure enough, the asari responded with a nervous laugh and shifted uncomfortably in his lap. It appeared that her team had arrived at a good time.

Shepard cleared her voice pointedly.

The asari, startled, whipped her head around and regarded the three armored soldiers with apprehension. Harkin, on the other hand, barely seemed to notice so preoccupied was he with his carnal ministrations.

Heaving an irritated sigh, Shepard caught the dancer's eye. She jerked her thumb back toward the bar area in a clear gesture for her to leave. "Give us a minute," she directed. The asari nodded mutely as she removed Harkin's hand from her hip.

"C'mon, baby, don't go!" exclaimed Harkin as the object of his affections wiggled out of his grasp.

The asari put on a show of reluctance, pursing her lips in annoyance and kissing him seductively on the cheek before turning to leave. But, as she passed by, Shepard could see the relief shining in her eyes.

"You know, sweetheart, if you wanted a turn, you could have just asked nicely," he huffed, his eyes glued to the dancer's retreating backside.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied flatly.

Harkin was silent a moment before finally letting his eyes slide from the swaying hips of the departing asari to his new visitors, appraising them sourly. His disgruntled demeanor quickly dissolved, however, as his glassy eyes focused on Shepard. Young, tall, blonde. He could work with that. Maybe this night wasn't a complete bust after all.

A crooked smile spread across his grizzled features. "Hey, no harm, no foul. I'm willing to overlook it, for you," he drawled, "because I gotta say – that soldier getup looks real good on that body of yours. Why don't you sit that sweet little ass down beside ole' Harkin and have a drink?"

Shepard swallowed the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of his overblown attempt at flirtation, merely raising her eyebrows at him incredulously. Her squad members, however, didn't take Harkin's comments so calmly. While Williams was content to mutter a colorful string of swear words under her breath, Alenko was by Shepard's side in an instant, his fists clenched in hot anger and intent on confrontation. He would have been riled had he overheard such disrespectful words directed at a complete stranger, much less at his XO. For that offense, he was livid.

But Shepard had anticipated his reaction and her arm jetted out in front of him before he could take another step forward. She tossed him a sidelong glance, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. The message in her stony expression was clear. Stay out of it. She would handle it. Alenko didn't doubt that for a second, but still, his blood boiled.

Satisfied that Alenko would heed her silent order, she turned back to Harkin, responding with a dry, "I'll pass."

Harkin shrugged, his gaze extending over Shepard's shoulder and falling on Chief Williams for the first time. He flashed a toothy grin.

"How abo—"

"Don't even think about it, pops," Williams spat.

A smug smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned back in his chair, picking up a glass of dark liquor from the table between them. He swirled the liquid gingerly before taking a long sip. "Suit yourself, princess," he turned back to Shepard with a shrug. "You know, if more marines looked like you two, I might have joined the Alliance instead of C-Sec." His eyes flicked back and forth between Williams and Shepard appreciatively.

Shepard could almost feel his eyes travel up and down her frame greedily from across the table, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Enough. Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor," she warned coolly.

"Alright, alright," he acquiesced with a chuckle, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Even in his liquor-addled state, he wasn't quite brazen enough to test that threat. "Soooo," he drew out, "if you're not here to have a drink with me, then what are you here for?"

"We were told you could tell us where to find Garrus Vakarian."

"Garrus, you say?" A look of genuine surprise flashed across his face and he rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "You must be part of Captain Anderson's crew, then. Heard he was here trying to sniff out a way to bring Saren down again."

"Again?" piped up Williams.

A self-satisfied smile played on his lips and he leaned forward against the table. "You don't know? Anderson never let you in on his little secret?" He shook his head in exaggerated disbelief, chuckling. "Oh, this is just too great!"

Shepard scowled. It was second time since their arrival on the Citadel that Captain Anderson's past with Saren had been exhumed, with the first being only a few hours earlier in Ambassador Udina's office. As to what Anderson wanted to hide and his motivations for doing so, Shepard hadn't the faintest, but it was starting to seem like the Normandy crew were the only ones on the entire station in the dark. She couldn't deny that she was curious.

But still, her position as Anderson's second-in-command demanded a united front, and her engrained loyalty to him professionally as her superior and to him personally as her mentor was enough to beat out her inquisitive nature. Until Anderson wished to disclose his relationship with Saren himself, Shepard would not entertain rumors and heresay. Especially not from obnoxious drunkards in nightclubs.

She held up a hand, waving it dismissively before he could continue. "Don't waste our time. Just tell us where we can find Vakarian."

But Harkin wouldn't be deterred. "But it's all related, don't you see?" he pressed, his eyes alight with excitement at the chance to spread such a juicy piece of gossip. "The Captain used to be a Spectre! First human to ever be given that honor. It was all very hush, hush….and good thing, too, because he blew it. Screwed up the mission so bad that they kicked him out. And he blames Saren. Says he was set up or whatever. Not sure anyone believes that, though." He took another sip of his drink, surveying their reactions over the rim of the glass.

There was a brief pause as the trio digested the information, each battling to maintain a neutral expression under Harkin's scrutiny despite the hurricane of questions swirling in their minds.

"And why should we believe a drunk like you?" challenged Alenko.

Harkin shrugged. "I've spent the last twenty years working for C-Sec on this station. You can learn a lot, if you just listen," he answered simply. A sudden thought seemed to cross his mind and he paused while gazing thoughtfully at the reflection of his uniform in the glass tabletop. "But I guess that's over now," he mused finally, a frown forming on his lips. "The Executor suspended me indefinitely. Can you believe that? After twenty years…" He shook his head, a noticeable shadow darkening his features as he reached again for his drink.

A flash of recognition danced across Shepard's memory. He must have been the man she overheard arguing in Executor Pallin's office that very morning. She recalled how the potent smell of alcohol had followed him as he had walked past her, and found herself not at all surprised at, nor sympathetic of, his current predicament.

"From what I've heard about you, you got off easy," she stated disparagingly, crossing her arms across her chest.

The bright flame that ignited in his eyes chased away his former melancholy. "And what the hell do you know!" he spat, leaning forward aggressively. "C-Sec ain't like being a soldier. We can't just go around shooting people. There's rules, regulations, procedures…bureaucratic bullshit, all of it. So don't go preaching to me about what's right and what's wrong. You guys have it easy."

Now it was Shepard's eyes that flashed.

Oh, how her inner voice longed to regale him with stories of her ' _easy'_ life – the relaxing evenings spent shivering in fox holes, the friendly firefights against overwhelming odds, the rousing multi-mile jogs with your dying buddy thrown on your back, the delicious catered food at your best friend's funeral reception. And, of course, the many nights of restful sleep where these moments can be relived in great detail. ' _Easy_ ,' yes, that was how she would describe her experience as a soldier, she thought dryly.

But she could see what Harkin was doing. His inflammatory comment was the bait, designed to rile her team up into a confrontation. His raw bitterness toward C-Sec, fueled by a generous amount of liquor, had him looking for a fight. It was a fight, however, that her team could not afford to enter without risking the one and only lead they had to the location of Garrus Vakarian. They could simply not afford to gamble that.

She drew in a measured breath, suppressing the urge to bite back at his comment with her own scathing reply. "Forget it," she said, more to herself and her squadmates than to Harkin. "This is your last chance, Harkin. Tell us where we can find Vakarian." Her right hand drifted deliberately toward the small of her back, her fingers resting lightly on the metallic grip of her holstered pistol.

His initial reaction seemed at first to resist, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in the beginnings of his characteristic smug smile. But a closer look at Shepard, blue eyes like ice and lips set in a thin line of grim determination, stopped him in his tracks. His grin faltered and his eyes cast about nervously.

"Fine, fine," he grunted with a sigh of defeat. "No idea what you'd want with a hothead like Garrus, but I heard him say earlier that he had a lead on a Dr. Michel. She runs a med clinic on the other side of the Ward. He was going to speak with her." He leaned back in his chair with a huff, downing the last couple sips of his drink in one fluid motion. He waved his hand at them dismissively. "Now you've got what you want. Leave and let me drink in peace."

The team couldn't be happier to do just that. Shepard nodded to Alenko and Williams, gesturing with a tilt of her head for them to head toward the exit.

"Don't have to ask me twice," she tossed over her shoulder as she turned to trail her squadmates.

And just like that, they were gone. Harkin shook his head as his eyes followed the strange trio until they were lost in the crowd. He was going to need another drink.

* * *

"Welcome back, Commander."

Shepard flashed a tired smile as she passed her Alliance ID to the deck officer on watch. As per protocol, he inserted the card into a portal that fed into the Normandy's mainframe, waiting for a moment as the ship's systems registered the card's owner and logged her back on board. "Thank you, Corporal," she said when he handed the ID back to her.

The same procedure was mirrored for Lieutenant Alenko and Chief Williams, and within moments, all three were stepping through the airlock and descending the stairs toward the crew deck.

The deck was almost unrecognizable. With the Normandy's usual round-the-clock operations halted during docking, most of the crew had either long bedded down in their cots or were still out enjoying shore leave. Absent was the sea of blue Alliance uniforms hustling through the corridors and the raucous laughter echoing off the walls of the mess hall, replaced now by an almost unsettling stillness. They treaded softly through the mess hall in a subconscious effort to avoid disturbing the silence.

"Your orders, ma'am?" asked Williams in a hushed tone as they neared the gear lockers.

Shepard turned back in surprise. She had noticed both Alenko's poorly stifled yawns and Williams' heavy-lidded eyes as they had made their way from Chora's Den back to the Normandy, just as she herself had struggled to keep her own weariness from showing. Fatigue was to be expected with the long, tumultuous day they had just experienced. Heated meetings, political debates, ambushes – it was hard to believe that they had docked at the Citadel a mere twenty-four hours earlier. Yet here they stood in front of her, weapons primed and looking at her expectantly, while their crewmates slept soundly only a few feet away. Shepard was impressed at their resiliency.

She stole a quick glance at her wristwatch before looking to Williams. "The only kind of order I give out at 0330 is to get some rack time, Chief," she replied. Sure, her squadmates might have indicated a willingness to doggedly pursue Vakarian all night, but she wasn't willing to take advantage of that dedication unless it was absolutely necessary. The mission could afford to wait a few more hours while they got some much-needed rest.

The decision was quickly validated by the expression of gratitude that immediately flooded Williams features. "Thanks, Commander," she said before making her way across the mess hall and toward the enlisted quarters. She offered her one last appreciative nod before disappearing into the corridor.

Alenko, however, hung back, surreptitiously waiting for the Gunnery Chief to make her exit under the guise of inspecting the sights on his heavy pistol. Ever since leaving Chora's Den, his mind had been replaying their interaction with Harkin, always coming back to Shepard's technique for finally wrestling the location of Garrus Vakarian from him. His mind's eye could still see the expression that had passed over Harkin's face as she had reached for her pistol - a shadow of uncertainty as to Shepard's capacity to resort to more violent measures. She hadn't pointed the weapon at him, or even drawn it from its holster, but the threat had been clearly communicated. And while Harkin tried to decipher whether or not Shepard was only bluffing or if she really intended to make good on the threat, Alenko had come to the startling realization that he had been doing the exact same.

In the end, Harkin had chosen to err on the side of caution and given them the information they requested. The situation had resolved itself without Shepard's threat ever being tested. But still, the moment of uncertainty gnawed at him. Had things gone differently and Harkin had refused, did Alenko really believe that the Normandy's executive officer would kill or maim a civilian in the pursuit of information? His original inclination had been a resounding no, but that was before he had glimpsed the icy detachment with which Shepard offered Harkin his last chance to cooperate. That one look had been enough to shake his noble assumptions to the core.

Now, Alenko not only wrestled with the veracity of her threat, but wondered if he could even serve under her were Shepard actually capable of delivering on it. The notion that he could be potentially pledging his allegiance to a leader so bereft of basic human compassion flew in the face of his deeply-rooted sense of honor and integrity. Was he willing to turn a blind eye for the sake of the mission if the next time didn't go so smoothly?

He watched through his periphery as William's figure disappeared around the corner, his fingers fiddling distractedly with the weapon resting in his palms as he grappled with his thoughts. He simply had to know.

"That goes for both of you, you know. Dr. Michel's clinic opens up at 0900 and I want us to be first in line."

Shepard's voice punched through his mental fog and he cleared his head with a quick shake. Looking up, he found her studying him quizzically. "Roger that, ma'am," he rushed.

She tilted her head slightly, the furrow in her brow deepening. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

Alenko hesitated, finding himself suddenly reluctant to broach the subject. Perhaps creating waves in the midst of a mission wasn't the wisest of choices. But she continued to scrutinize him with those piercing blue eyes and the words just tumbled out. "About what happened back in Chora's Den, with Harkin…"

Shepard leaned back against one of the mess tables, propping herself up with the heels of her palms and encouraging him to continue with a nod.

"Well, what would you have done if Harkin hadn't told us where Garrus was?"

It was phrased delicately, but Shepard quickly deduced the real crux of the question. Even in the short time they had known one another, Alenko's paragon proclivities were apparent. She should have guessed the event with Harkin had bothered him. "You mean when I threatened to shoot him if he didn't start talking," she clarified. "You want to know if I would have actually done it?"

Alenko merely raised his brows in affirmation.

Shepard paused thoughtfully for a moment, an unreadable expression fleeting briefly across her features under Alenko's watchful gaze. When she finally spoke, however, her features once again exuded the same composed confidence that he was growing accustomed to. "A threat only has leverage if people believe you'll act on it. If you play the part correctly, you never even need a plan B," she explained. "So the real question is…did _you_ believe me?"

Alenko blinked. He wasn't sure what to make of her question, or of her answer to _his_ question for that matter. "I…, well, to be honest I wasn't sure," he admitted.

"Then I did my job right," she replied simply.

"So it was just a bluff?"

Shepard flashed a reassuring smile. "I don't make a habit of shooting people who don't answer my questions, if that's what you want to hear."

Alenko exhaled an involuntary sigh of relief. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, and he felt a heaviness he didn't realize he was bearing ascend from his shoulders. "Yes, thanks, Commander. I just needed to know for sure, for the sake of my sanity. I hope you understand."

She nodded in reply, and her expression made him feel as if she _did_ understand. The nature of the military dictated that a leader's orders be followed unquestioningly - a difficult enough demand without the added uncertainty of shuffling the roster and appointing a new head coach. Sometimes, it was just nice to know that your new leader was at least operating out of the same playbook.

With the source of his internal struggle now resolved, Alenko suddenly felt the full effect of the day's activities. He attempted to stifle a wide yawn. "I think I'll obey that order for some rack time now, ma'am," he sighed heavily.

"Yes, go," she agreed, shooing him away with a flick of her wrist. "See you in the morning."

At her dismissal, he began the trek to the officer's quarters in weary silence –so tired that he wouldn't realize until much later that she never really did answer his question.

And truth be told, Shepard wasn't sure she even knew the answer herself.


End file.
